


Again

by casco



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV), Wynonna Earp (TV) RPF, wayhaught - Fandom
Genre: Wayhaught - Freeform, Wynonnaearp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:48:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casco/pseuds/casco
Summary: Nicole and Waverly have been broken up for half a year. It's been tough, but they've managed to make things work. You might even be able to call them civil, amicable. But things start to unravel quickly and their relationship hangs in the balance once again - will they remain apart? Could they ever make this work again? If they could, do they want to?**yes this is written in first person but give it a chance people!! Angst, drama, passion...it's chock full of it**
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 134
Kudos: 453





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic! Please be gentle :)
> 
> More chapters coming.

It had been 6 months. 6 agonizingly slow months, one half of a year since Waverly and I had called it quits. Well, since I had called it quits. Since I had broken the heart of the love of my life, and my own in the process. And now, she walks into Shorty’s and what had started to heal of my heart is ripped to shreds again and I’m brought right back to that moment, the one that had put insurmountable distance between us. 

“Waves…” I said, brushing stray hair off of her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. My girl, my beautiful girl, has a cut across her cheek and I can tell that she is absolutely exhausted. The Earp sisters had been caught up in the usual fight against Revenants, which was pretty much standard these days. However now for the second time, Waverly and gotten injured after I ended up in the line of fire. Trying to protect me, because I’m no Earp and I’m no Waverly and this doesn’t all come completely naturally to me. 

“Waverly,” I start again, having not been able to find my words the first time. She’s sitting across from me, tired eyes searching mine, sensing something amiss about my tone of voice. Her hand is on my thigh and her thumb is stroking my jeans comfortingly. Trying to comfort me so I can tell her something that will destroy us both. “We can’t…we can’t do this anymore.” I swallow hard, trying to force down the lump I can feel forming in my throat. I see the confusion in her eyes and feel as her body tenses. She’s not sure what I mean, but she doesn’t like the sound of it. It takes everything in me to continue. To drive my point home. “I can’t be with you anymore. I can’t put you in danger like this. Look at you, Wave…if I wasn’t always around distracting you, giving those things leverage over you…this wouldn’t happen. You and Wynonna are an unstoppable team and I just throw a wrench into it and get you hurt.” I say, gesturing to her bloody face and waving a hand in general at her battered body and torn clothing. This has nothing to do with any jealousy or resentment towards her relationship with Wynonna. In fact, I love that she has her sister in her life, that they are so close. It has everything to do with the fact that this is now the second time she’s gotten hurt trying to defend me in a situation I’m sure, in hindsight, they could have handled themselves.

“Nicole, no,” she coos back at me. “It’s not your fault. You know I’d do anything to keep you safe.” She reaches out to touch my cheek but I turn my head away. “Baby, don’t do this,” she pleads. Her tone has changed, like she’s realizing that I’ve already made up my mind. 

“I’m sorry,” I force out. My voice is higher than usual, strained. 

“Is…is this what you really want?” She asks me after a long pause. I force myself to look up and meet her gaze. 

I swallow hard. “Yes. It’s what I really want.” I say. The words burn as they come out and my heart sinks down into the bottom of my stomach. Waverly is frozen for a few seconds and then she leans back as if the words just hit her. I see am unfamiliar expression come across her face, one I’m certainly not used to seeing. She becomes distant, removed. I know her well enough to be able to see the pain on her face, but it’s as if a wall has gone up between us. 

I know I have to be strong. I have to hold my resolve. She meets my eyes for what seems like a split second and hours at the same time. Then she nods and grabs her coat as she stands in one swift motion, and she’s walking away. 

What have I done?

The man next to me slams his glass down on the bar counter and mercifully snaps me out of my flashback. But this not so mercifully allows me to search for Waverly among the crowd, something I just can’t help doing, especially when I’ve had a few drinks in me. As soon as I spot her, though, I wish I hadn’t looked. Champ is standing by her, his clumsy, rough hands on her waist as she sits on a stool by the bar. She looks slightly annoyed but she’s smiling politely as he talks to her. Suddenly she looks over his shoulder and we make direct eye contact. I’m caught like a deer in headlights, unable to even look away and pretend like I wasn’t just staring at her. She doesn’t look away either, but finally I muster up the strength and turn my attention back to the empty shot glass in front of me. I wave at the bar tender and he slides me down another shot of whiskey, and I slam it back eagerly. 

Eventually I can’t help myself and I steal a glance back in her direction. Luckily she isn’t looking this time. Champ is now sitting next to her, his arm sprawled across the back of the chair she’s sitting at. I don’t know if they’re back together; I don’t think Waverly would do that. But who knows. Do I even know her anymore? Either way, it’s none of my business. Maybe Champ was a better choice for her, after all. Maybe I can just be the lesbian phase she went through. Regardless, thinking of Champ and her together is enough to make my blood boil. 6 months might have passed, but my feelings for Waverly haven’t faded in the slightest. I can’t help but feel possessive over her, even though she isn’t mine anymore. 

Champ leans in and starts whispering something in her ear. Waverly listens and then her eyes go a little wide and she throws her head back and laughs, playfully hitting him in the chest. Okay, that’s enough. I stand up from the bar, feeling a little dizzy and heavy from the alcohol, and head to the bathroom. I look for Jeremy as I make my way through the thick crowd. I’ve been waiting for him to come back for what feels like an hour now so we can leave. I hadn’t minded until the whole Waverly and Champ thing had come to my attention. Now, I want to get out of here and he’s still nowhere to be found. 

I knock on the bathroom door, knowing that the lock doesn’t typically actually lock the door. Hearing no response from within, I enter, and the door swings shut behind me. I don’t dare actually use the toilet here - this is a grimy bar, after all - but I turn on the faucet and run cold water. I let it run over my hands until they are numb and then I bring them to my face, the cold shocking myself a little more sober. I stare at myself in the mirror, both my hands on my cheeks. What the hell am I doing?

“Oh! Sorry!” Before I even register the voice of whoever walked in on me, I spin around. It’s Waverly. I stand frozen, blinking, and so does she. “Sorry…” She says again, still standing with the door open, half way in and half way out, her voice soft and quiet this time rather than high and surprised. We stand there dumbly; well, I stand there dumbly, my mouth open like I’m going to speak but no words are forming in my brain. Waverly is watching me, her expression guarded. Come on, get yourself out of here. I think to myself. This is definitely dangerous territory. I can feel the liquor in my veins, making me more brazen, lowering my inhibitions. I can only assume Waverly is in the same state. And these close quarters are a recipe for disaster. While I have no idea how Waverly feels about me, if she still has those types of feelings for me, I certainly do. And while I’ve done my best to put them in a tiny box and shove them to the back of my brain, they resurface unnervingly quickly now that I’m in her presence. Sure, we’ve seen each other around over the past 6 months, but this is the first time we’ve been alone together since the break up. 

If Waverly was wondering how I feel about her, my silence, flushed cheeks, and wide eyes certainly tell her everything she needs to know. I don’t know how long we’ve been standing there, staring at each other, both afraid to speak or move. Somehow, the second Waverly moves, I know her intentions. She enters the bathroom and the door swings shut noisily behind her in her haste. I take one step and we close the distance between each other, both of us breathing out loudly as our bodies collide. Our lips search for one another feverishly until we’re locked in a kiss. I turn around so my back is to the door and we stumble backwards until Waverly is pressed up against the sink. Our kiss is rough, hot, passionate, as if we’re trying to make up for all of the lost time. I feel Waverly’s tongue against my teeth and I gladly part them and groan as we explore each other’s mouths. My groan only encourages her and if it’s possible, things intensify even further. 

I wrap my hands around her thighs just under her butt and lift her so that she’s sitting on the edge of the sink. Her legs immediately snake around my waist, pulling me tight to her and locking me there. We can’t possibly get close enough. I feel as her hands move to the collar of my shirt, fingers brushing the skin just above my collarbone before she starts to work on the top buttons. I break my mouth away from hers only to quickly connect my lips with her ear. I don’t dare speak, afraid I’ll somehow break this trance we’ve fallen into, but my breathing is hot and heavy. My lips trail down her neck and across her jaw and she leans back, her head softly thudding against the glass of the mirror. My hands support her back which is arching towards me, her breasts tantalizing close to my face. I quickly undo the buttons of her blouse and my mouth trails across her collar bone, then lower, until I’m using my hand to pull her bra down and out of the way. 

A sharp rapping on the door makes us both go stiff instantly. “Hey Nicole, Doc told me he saw you go in here. Are you ready to - “ Jeremy bursts into the room, with Waverly still sitting on the sink with her legs wrapped around my waist. Both of our shirts are partially unbuttoned and we’re breathing heavily as we turn to look at Jeremy, who had just walked in on us. Crap. He obviously wasn’t expecting that when he opened the door, so he looks absolutely stunned and dumbfounded. Then to make things worse, Champ comes stumbling up behind him. 

“What the fuck dude, you tryna peep on my girlfr - “ He says, before peering through the partially open door to see us still entangled by the sink. At this Waverly finally moves, pushing me back wards as she frees herself from our embrace. “Fucking shit,” Champ yells, pulling on his own hair in frustration. “Are you serious Waverly? Fuck.” He storms off as Waverly and I quickly rebutton our shirts. 

Waverly maneuvers to leave the bathroom. I reach out and grab her wrist gently. “I - I’m sorry,” I stammer. 

She looks up at me. “You know, it was already hard enough. I thought it was getting better.” She snaps. She sounds angry, but the look in her eyes is only pain. Contradicting herself, she leans closer and looks as if she might kiss me again. But then she snaps out of it and squeezes past Jeremy, presumably to go find Champ. I worry for her when she does, but there’s nothing I can do now. 

Jeremy and I exchange a look and I just shake my head. He pats my shoulder as we exit the bathroom and then exit the bar, out into the parking lot. “So, that’s still going on?” He asks me, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, it wasn’t. It isn’t. I don’t know,” I say with a groan. I plop down int he passenger seat of Jeremy’s car and lean my head back against the seat, letting my eyes close. I can still taste Waverly on my lips and I savor it while I can; I can still feel her hands on my body, her legs wrapped around me. While I’d never forgotten the feeling of her, the taste of her lips, the memories had dulled over time. Now, they were alive and intense all over again. “Shit,” I mutter, mostly to myself. 

“Yeah,” Jeremy chimes in. “Shit.”


	2. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly makes a big, surprising decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See notes at the end for more info.

“Everyone heard about it, Waverly,” Wyonna says to me. It’s morning, early, and I’m sitting at the dining room table with my shoulders rounded, my face hovering over my cup of coffee like I don’t even want the steam to get away for it might also allow some of the caffeine content to escape my lips. 

“Champ went absolutely insane over at Pussy Willows,” she continues. “Stirred up enough trouble Nedley thought he might have been possessed. So yeah, the whole town pretty much knows.”

I groan loudly, lowering my face so close to my piping hot mug that my nose nearly touches the coffee, the heat slightly uncomfortable as it wafts up my nose. “He’s such an ass hat,” I mutter, mostly to myself. Then I sit up a little straighter, looking at my sister who is sitting across the table from me nibbling on a piece of toast and smirking. “You know I’m not even with him, right?” I ask her. “Like why does he have to act like that?” 

“You’re the one that dated him,” Wynonna says, shrugging. “Your guess is better than mine.” She’s quiet for a short moment. “But, ya know, maybe stop meeting up with him at bars?”

I give an offended huff at her insinuation that I’m somehow leading him on. “First of all, I’m not meeting up with him anywhere,” I tell her. “And second, as soon as he spots me he won’t leave me alone. Am I supposed to hide at home forever for fear of running into him?”

“True,” Wynonna admits, nodding. “It’s already bad enough having to play dodge-the-ginger at work.” 

I wince slightly at the comment, but it’s true. “Exactly!” I chime. “That’s my point! I can’t go anywhere without running into one of them! One won’t leave me alone and the other one…” I trail off. I’m not about to tell Wynonna exactly how much the other one still hurts. Badly enough that I have only said her name out loud a handful of times over the past few months because the feel of it on my lips dredges up emotions and memories I’m trying to forget. 

Nicole. 

My body shivers like I’ve got a chill as I try to reset my mind. I need to get off the subject, but something I just said has given me an idea. I bite my lip, tossing it around in my mind for a few seconds while Wynonna continues to eat her breakfast, oblivious. 

“Maybe I should…maybe I should move?” I blurt out the question, the idea, before I think about whether or not I should. Wynonna looks up and freezes mid bringing a slice of toast to her mouth and blinks at me. Then, she laughs. 

“Ha, very funny,” she says, bringing the toast to her mouth and taking a bite. Then, through a full mouth, “Leave Purgatory? The Homestead? Me?” She shakes her head dismissively. 

“I’m serious,” I tell her. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. She looks up at me then, her eyes searching mine, starting to take me a little more seriously. “Obviously I don’t want to leave you or the Homestead,” I say. “But ditching Purgatory? Not having to worry about constantly running into people I don’t want to see? That sounds pretty good.”

“Wave, you can’t just run away because you had a bad break up. Time heals everything,” Wynonna says. 

“I know, I know,” I say, sighing. “But it isn’t just that. I can’t start over here, Wynonna. This place is too small. Everything is…tainted.” I say, trailing off. I pick back up again a few seconds later, after taking a sip of my coffee. “I want - I need a fresh start. How am I supposed to do that here?” I wrap my hands around my mug, which is at that perfect temperature where it won’t burn me but is comfortingly hot. 

Wynonna is watching me intently now, having listened to my spiel. “I want to argue with you, but you’re right. As much as it pains me to say it,” she tosses in a sarcastic remark at the end. “But, you know, eventually you could start over here. Like I said, as time passes hopefully things will kind of go back to normal, you know?”

“It’s been 6 months already,” I say, shaking my head sadly. “I’ve been waiting for things to go back to normal. Like before. I just…I don’t want to waste any more time. I want to start over, and I can’t here.” The more I say it, the more right it feels. The more I know in my gut that this is the right decision, the right path for me to take. 

Wynonna sips her coffee and starts to rip up what is left of her toast into tiny pieces, scattering them about her plate. “I’ll still come back to visit,” I tell her guiltily. “And we can FaceTime like every day. Trust me, you’ll get sick of me,” I say, laughing half heartedly. Moving away from Wynonna is the only downside to this new plan. It hurts my heart so much that I just try not to think about that part. 

“Hey, don’t worry. I totally get it, Waves,” she says, uncharacteristically softly. She swallows, obviously as pained by the thought of us having to go our separate ways as I am. “And, I mean, you can always come back. When you’re ready. You always have a home here,” she says. I look up at her and nod, feeling tears starting to well in my eyes. “Okay, enough of that,” she says, clapping her hands together like she’s knocking dirt off of them. 

The conversation is over, but the seed has been planted. Now I just need to make a plan. 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 



“Wait,” Rosita says. “So you’re really leaving?”

I’m sitting at the bar and Rosita is bar tending. Technically I shouldn’t be bothering her while she’s on shift, but I’m running out of people to talk to these days. The crowd is minimal as it’s a Tuesday night, but I still jump every time the door swings open, nervous about who might be entering. I tap my fingers against the sticky wooden bar and take a sip out of the mixed drink Rosita had made me. I wince as it burns its way down my throat. “You know I’m a lightweight,” I tell her, my face still scrunched up. “That’s gonna have me on my ass all night,” I tell her. 

“Stop avoiding the question,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I really am,” I say. It’s been over 2 weeks since I had my epiphany, and I now have some plans in place, including a deposit on an apartment and some job interviews lined up. It might seem rushed, but I wanted to pull the trigger and make things official before I have the chance to back out. The scary part is that it’s all getting more real the more I think about it and the more I plan; I had been half hoping I would get scared and change my mind. But it’s been the opposite. 

“Well, where to?” She asks. 

“At first I was thinking Vancouver,” I tell her. “But then I realized it gets cold there, and I’m already so cold here, so if I’m starting over I might as well go somewhere I’ll at least be warm. So I decided on San Diego. A big city, because that’s the whole point. But not as ridiculously expensive as LA or San Fran. Still ridiculously expensive, but… I just don’t want to end up in the same situation again, you know, in a small town.”

“Should I try to talk you out of it?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You could try, but I’m sure this is what I want.” I tell her. I didn’t know that I meant the words until I spoke them. 

“Okay, good. Because I think it’s a good idea. I’ll miss you, but you deserve better than this place, anyways. I’m proud of you.”

I glance up at her, my glass of mysterious drink almost to my lips. “Thank you,” I tell her. It’s nice to talk about my plan with someone other than Wynonna - I value her opinion more than anyone’s, but it’s so hard to talk about it with her without feeling like I might fall apart. 

I’m about to take my second sip of my drink when my phone springs to life on the table, sliding around as it vibrates with an incoming call flashing on the screen. Doc. I answer, and he tells me I need to come down to the station right away. It’s hard to read his voice, but it sounds urgent enough that I know I should hurry. Why would Doc be the one to call me, anyways?

“Sorry, Rosie, I gotta take off.”

“You sure you can drive?” She asks me, smirking. 

“Yes, I’m sure. No thanks to you,” I tell her, narrowing my eyes playfully. I only took one sip, so I’m hardly even tipsy. I’ll be fine. 

“Okay. Be safe,” she says as I gather up my things and push the barstool back in. “And hey, Waves. You can always talk to me, okay? If you want to bounce some ideas around. You know where to find me.”

I smile and place my hand over hers on the bar, squeezing. “Thank you,” I tell her genuinely. “I’ll take you up on that.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

I walk into the station and before I can stop myself I blurt out, “You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me.” I’m usually much more composed, I’m usually the nicest person in Purgatory. I have the badge to prove it. But when I walk in and I see Nicole and Doc leaning over the table sifting through papers, I can’t contain the outburst. They both look over at me and I quickly focus in on Doc, not daring to look Nicole in the eye. She kind of side steps out of the way, anyways, so evidently the feeling is mutual. Neither of us want anything to do with the other. 

“I know, I know,” Doc drawls out, holding his hands up defensively. “But Waverly, we have a bigger issue on our hands. Wynonna and Dolls are gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” I ask. Doc throws his glance back at Nicole, forcing me to look at her. She meets my eyes for a split second and then averts her gaze, tucking hair behind her ear that was already there in the first place, a nervous tick. She clears her throat, starting to shuffle through the papers she and Doc had been looking over when I walked in. 

“Um, yeah, so they were working a case,” she says, gesturing to the papers. “And now neither of them are reporting back. And you know, normally that wouldn’t be much cause for concern, except for Nedley got a report of shots fired out by the gas station earlier today. When he got there, there was only a small amount of blood on one of the pumps, but no one was there. We didn’t think much of it before, but he went back and ran the plates on the car there and its Dolls’.”

“Wynonna and Dolls are gone,” Doc repeats, now that the gaps have been filled in. “So, I figured you would want to help us look. Or was I wrong?” He asks, looking back and forth from me to Nicole. 

“No, no, you were right,” I tell him. “Of course I want to help. Nico- we can work together.” I assure him, without looking at her. “Now, give me those papers. Who are we looking for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry if this chapter was a little boring. I promise more exciting things are coming soon, but I need to lay out a foundation for the story, you know?
> 
> Please comment if you like this! Any hunches about what will happen next? Anything you really want to see happen? Your comments give me inspiration and courage to keep writing. And I'll always respond!


	3. Watching Airplanes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Shaehaught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out longer than I thought it would, and not sure how I feel about Shaehaught, but here ya go! Check out my notes at the bottom if you'd like another chapter released this weekend.

Being with Waverly and Doc in the office feels a lot like the time in high school when I was working on a group project with my girlfriend and best friend and then my girlfriend cheated on me and we all still had to work together. Different circumstance, yeah, but the awkward tension and pain were essentially the same. I have to shove all of the feelings aside - not only am I on shift, in uniform, but these are people I care about. Wynonna and Dolls are two of my best friends and some of the only family I have, and we need to pull together to get them out of whatever mess they’re in. They’d certainly do the same for us, just probably 10 times faster and with half the trouble. Since Waverly and I split up I haven’t been hanging around them as much, because to do so would mean to also hang around Waverly. But we do work together, so we’ve managed to maintain at least somewhat of a relationship.

I look up at Waverly for the first time as she assures Doc that we can work together effectively. I’m not sure if that’s true. Actually, I know that’s not true. The whole reason I called things off with her was because I can’t think clearly when I’m with her; I couldn’t handle myself in emergency situations and ended up getting either one or both of us hurt. Obviously I have concerns about this situation, but we need all hands on deck. I’ll just have to be on my game, and on my guard. All of this flashes through my mind in just seconds. Waverly’s gaze is averted, looking at the papers, and I pluck the most important one out of the pile and hand it to her.

“This is the guy they went to go talk to,” I tell her, bringing her up to speed. “From what I heard them saying, he stole some kind of artifact known to be important to Bulshar, and they wanted to know what he was planning to do with it.”

“Okay, so we go there, too,” Waverly says, eyes scouring the paper and locking in on the address. Then without another word or another glance at anyone in the room, she turns on her heel and rushes out the door. Doc and I give each other a look and I shrug and follow after her.

“I’m not taking that damn Jeep,” I mutter as I sling my arms into my jacket and pull it over my shoulders.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had been a long day. A really, really long day. Three shot glasses sit in front of me, full, and I pick them up one by one and slam them back, hardly taking a breath between them. Chasing whiskey with whiskey. My face scrunches up at the end as my body revolts against what I just did, and I clench my teeth and clamp my lips shut to keep everything in my stomach, where it needs to stay so it can get into my bloodstream and start numbing my mind of today’s events.

“Hey,” I hear a familiar voice from behind me, and then feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around on my bar stool and there she is, a welcome, friendly face.

“Hi, Shae,” I say. I stand up and offer her a quick hug. She returns the gesture but I can tell that she has a lot of questions. The first one probably being why in the world I had her come meet me at this skeezy strip club at nearly midnight. Or maybe why I had even called her at all, after not having spoken for several months. Our divorce was finalized earlier this year. The situation was amicable as we had never actually been a married couple; it was just a matter of settling the legal side of things. I’d wanted to make sure to take care of that because I had plans to propose to Waverly in the near future, at the time.

Now, the memory stings, my heart aching, so I refocus my attention to the present. I’m drunk, like I have been most nights as of late, but tonight is different. I spent all day working with Waverly to find Wynonna and Dolls, which in and of itself had been hard enough. We found them after several hours of goose chasing, alive and well, just fallen in a booby trap. But Waverly had been so cold, so harsh, so angry. So not Waverly, not MY Waverly, at least. We were together, yet a million miles apart.

However, it was the revelation at the end of the day, before we went our separate ways again, that had sent me over the edge. Had sent me to Pussy Willows and to drunkenly booty calling my ex wife.

" _Um….thanks. For helping today,” Waverly says, as Wynonna, Doc, and Dolls all start to say their goodbyes so Doc and I can get back to work._

_“Just doing my job,” I tell her with a shrug, coolly, trying to make sure my emotions are masked, that my eyes and voice don’t betray me when I look at her. I need to keep the distance between us, especially after the other night at Shorty’s._

_Waverly looks at me, and I can see that she’s torn between saying something to me or not. We used to be able to communicate without words, and I can still read her mind, to an extent. “I….” She bites her lip, like she may have changed her mind. I see her glance over my shoulder, at our friends as they start to head back to Dolls’ car and Doc plops back down in passenger seat of the patrol car. “I, uh… I just wanted you to know. I’m leaving.”_

_My jaw goes slightly slack as I stare at Waverly, this woman who means the world to me yet who feels a million miles away despite being right in front of me. There’s a wall up between us, one I put there, one we have each been adding bricks to as time passes. Making it higher, reinforcing it with every dirty look, every clipped greeting, every door quickly ducked through to avoid an interaction. Right now, I’d give anything to burst through it, to tear it down, but it isn’t that simple. I’ve convinced myself I’ve made the right choice, reassured myself over and over again - I have to stick to my guns. I want to say something, but I feel as if all my resolve might shatter if I do. She’s taken me completely by surprise._

_“I know you probably don’t care,” she continues, dropping her gaze to look at the ground between us. “I’m flying out to San Diego this weekend. So, you know, you don’t have to worry about seeing me around, anymore. But um, we’re kind of having a get together at Shorty’s tonight, one last hoorah you know. Do you mind…not going there tonight? It..it would just be too..you know..” My beautiful, confident Waverly - she’s not one to trip over her words like this. She’s not one to seem so small, so timid, so sad. It breaks my heart, if it’s possible to break it anymore than it already is._

_Still, I stand there, dumbly. My mind can’t quite wrap itself around the fact that she’s leaving. It doesn’t make a difference, does it? This is good news, isn’t it? Maybe we can finally move on. After months and months of wanting that and only that, closure, to move on, to not be in this constant state of despair and temptation, why does that suddenly sound like the opposite of what I want?_

_“Nicole?” She says, probably wondering if I’ve had a stroke or gone deaf or am just outright ignoring her. I swallow, finally gathering myself, and nod._

_“Oh, um, yeah. Okay.” Waverly looks at me, waiting for me to say more. But that’s it. That’s all I’ve got, that’s all I say. She waits for what feels like an eternity until the silence becomes cold and awkward, and I continue to stare at her dumbly. Her lips tremble and then she just nods, reaches out and gives my arm one last, final squeeze, and then she piles into the truck with Wynonna and Dolls._

_I stand there and watch as their car peels off down the road, until it’s just a speck in the distance, and then gone. I climb back into the car and bless his soul, Doc just rolls down his window, hangs his arm out into the fresh country air, and watches as the dry prairie rolls by on our way back to the station._

Now, Shae’s hand rests on the same spot Waverly touched earlier, just before I saw her for what might have been the last time ever. “So..” She says, sitting down on the open stool next to me, raising an eyebrow.

“So,” I mimic playfully, genuinely smiling. It honestly feels so nice to have a a familiar, friendly face around me. Someone who doesn’t know all of my business, who doesn’t also know Waverly, who I know hasn’t been whispering about me for the past half of a year. I hadn’t expected seeing her to feel so good, so normal, so peaceful. It’s just an added bonus. “I figured we can get a few drinks and then head back to my place? Calamity Jane will be so happy to see you.”

“You still have the flea bag?” Shae asks, shaking her head with a smile.

“Oh come on, you know you love her. Loved her.” I say.

“Mhm, yeah,” she says. “And I think you’ve already had a few drinks,” she continues, her eyes going to the counter by my elbow where there are 2 empty beers and 3 shot glasses, empty as well.

“Guilty,” I say. The bartender noticed the new arrival, and comes over to take her order. I open my mouth to order her her usual, a margarita, but she cuts me off.

“Thanks, I’m good for right now,” she says, smiling sweetly. The bartender nods and goes back to tending to the rowdy crowd of older men watching a football game with hardly dressed women dancing and mingling among them, dollar bills sticking out of their stringy clothes.

“Why don’t we just get out of here?” She says.

“You read my mind,” I tell her with a mischievous grin. I start to fumble around my pocket for my keys.

“Ah ah,” she says, swatting at my hand. “I’ll drive. We’ll come back for your car tomorrow.”

We arrive back at my place about 20 minutes later. During the ride we had chatted about menial things, like work and family, but I had carefully danced around the topic of Waverly. I know Shae knows about her, of course, but she knows me well enough to realize I’m avoiding the topic and not to ask. And she knows that me calling her, inviting her here, means something obviously happened.

I flick on the lights and take off my coat when we enter, hanging hers up for her as well in the closet by the front door. She looks around, having never been here before, but I slide my hand into hers and start to walk backwards, until she’s up against the wall. I hear her breath catch as I close the space between our lips until they’re almost touching.

“Thank you for coming all the way over here,” I whisper, my hand that isn’t holding hers pressing up against the wall near her head as I shift until our hips are pressed together. I let my lips brush hers but as she moves forward to kiss me I move my mouth away from hers and start to plant soft kisses along her jaw, trailing down her neck. I hear her breathing becoming uneven, her body responding to my touch.

I release her hand from mine and grab the bottom edge of her shirt and pull it up; she raises her arms to let me slip it over her head. My eyes roam over her body, just as I remember it, perfect complexion covering rippling muscles. She’s obviously continued with her passion for rock climbing and hasn’t become a soft police officer like I have. She looks amazing.

Shae stands there against the wall, seeming comfortable under my roaming, appraising gaze. She knows she’s sexy as hell, and she knows that we have great chemistry together, whether we work as a couple or not. This is all natural, practiced, something we’ve done many times before. So I’m just trying to shake off the voice in the back of my head screaming at me that this is wrong.

Finally, I crash my lips into hers. They find each other like long lost lovers do, eagerly reuniting as our mouths part and our tongues become reacquainted again as well. I kiss her hungrily, passionately, desperately trying to fill the void I feel in my heart. She pushes me off of her so she can get off the wall and she tugs at my shirt until it’s off, a crumpled pile of fabric on the floor next to hers. Her hands start to work on my belt buckle as I slowly back her towards the couch, stumbling around in my drunken state. The back of her knees bump into the plush cushions of the furniture and she collapses down. I remain standing for a second, looking down at her for a few seconds, before I climb over the top of her, pressing our bodies back together.

From my new position and with her shirt removed, my mouth has more areas to explore, and I kiss, lick, and suck my way down her neck, over the top of her shoulder, across her collar bone, and in between her breasts which are still covered by her bra. I roughly yank the material aside and begin to twirl her nipple in my mouth with my tongue, nipping gently. This elicits a moan of pleasure from Shae, whose back arches, pressing us even closer together.

I trail a path of kisses down her stomach, my lips leaving glistening wetness in their wake on her skin. I reach the edge of her jeans and unbutton them. Just as my hand slides around the waist to pull them down, Shae reaches out, putting a hand on the side of my head.

“Okay, okay, hold on,” she says breathlessly. I look up, out of breath as well, my cheeks flushed.

“We don’t have to do this,” she tells me, propping herself up on her elbows so she can see my face. “Like, I didn’t drive 3 hours to get here in the middle of the night just for a booty call. I know you wouldn’t have called unless something was wrong.”

I look at her, holding her gaze, seeing in her eyes that she genuinely means what she’s saying. I guess we’ll always care about each other, in that way. I swallow thickly and then shake my head. “I know,” I tell her. “Thanks. But can we talk about that in the morning?” A mischievous grin is back on my face now, and I lower my head so my lips come back into contact with her skin. I work down her jeans and underwear until I have access to what I want. I can feel Shae still watching me, propped up on her elbows, until my tongue slides into her folds. She flops back down and opens her legs.

“Good girl,” I say, sitting up briefly so I can fully remove the rest of her clothing and then I situate myself back between her legs. I reach up with one hand and squeeze her breast, my fingers finding her nipple to twist and caress as my mouth lowers back down. My tongue works long, slow licks at first before finding her swollen, throbbing clit and focusing on that, working slow, methodical circles.

She has never taken long, and I remember the tells that she’s near orgasm, so when I start to recognize them I stop, trailing kisses down her inner thigh. It feels so good to be so enthralled with her, for the rest of the world to have gone quiet around us. Between her intoxicating body and the liquor flowing in my veins, all of the sadness and dread and anxiety has finally, blissfully, disappeared.

Shae moans in protest at my cessation of pleasing her and I gladly concede, this time gently inserting two fingers inside of her before my tongue goes back to tracing patterns over her clit. My fingers curl repetitively inside of her and my tongue never comes off of her and soon she releases a scream, “Nicole!” And her thighs clamp shut around my head, not permitting me to move or stop until she’s ridden out her high.

When she finally releases her grip and her body goes still except for the panting as she catches her breath, I grin up at her, running the back of my hand across my chin. “Still got it.”

My response is cocky and so is the grin on my face. But my chest feels tight, unbearably tight, like I might be having a panic attack. Mercifully, Shae closes her eyes and dozes off. I stand up and stumble to the bathroom, the world spinning, breathing rapidly. I turn on the water and use my hand as a cup to guzzle down a few mouthfuls of water, hoping it will help calm me down.

I start to pace back and forth in the small space of the bathroom, only making it about two steps before turning around and retracing my steps. Over and over. After several minutes I start to calm down, my heart rate slowing, my breathing coming easier. But I lean up against the wall and slide down onto the floor, dropping my head against my knees. Sobs rack my body as I sit there ugly crying in the bathroom. Not only did it hit me that as much as I enjoyed having sex with Shae, she’ll never be what I truly want, Waverly; but at the same time I finally process the fact that Waverly is leaving. And that she told me, granting one last opportunity to fight for her, to beg for her back. An opportunity to tell her to stay. And all I said was “Oh, um, okay.”

I cry myself to sleep on the bathroom floor while my ex wife sleeps peacefully on the couch.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I wake up the next morning in bed, in my pajamas, but I don’t remember how I got there. The last thing I remember is the ripping agony in my heart and soul as I cried pathetically on the bathroom floor.

I groan at the throbbing in my temple and the horrible taste in the back of my throat and I retrospectively regret those shots I did last night. And that I hadn’t drank any water since probably 2 days ago. Memories slowly return to me and I feel a blush dusting my cheeks as I remember sleeping with Shae. It was a rash, drunken decision to call her over here. My heart was just aching so badly; I didn’t know if I could take another night alone, not knowing that my heart was getting up and flying to San Diego today.

I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. Shae isn’t in bed with me and the other side of the bed seems untouched, so it doesn’t look like she was ever there with me, anyways. I yawn and stretch and get up to pee and brush my teeth before heading out of my room. I walk downstairs barefoot, my feet hitting the cold wood floors. I smell the food before I see Shae setting a plate of pancakes onto the round table in the kitchen, next to a plate of eggs and two cups of coffee.

“You’re a godsend,” I say to her as I pad into the kitchen. She clicks off the burner and sits down at the table, motioning for me to do the same, and I happily oblige.

“You look like shit,” she tells me.

“Gee, thanks,” I say, shooting her a look. But I happily scoop some scrambled eggs onto my plate and stuff a forkful of pancakes into my mouth.

“No offense,” she says. “But you’re skin and bones and you look like you haven’t slept or had a proper meal in weeks.” I lower my eyes and shrug, because I know she’s right. I’ve lost about 15 pounds, dropping below what would be considered a healthy weight for myself, and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to get a full night of sleep.

“Last night was fun,” she continues. I swallow a mouthful of food and then sip on my coffee, realizing that she still remembered how I take it, black with just a little sugar. “But I didn’t come just for the booty call. I came because I know you’d never call me unless something was really wrong. So, spill.”

I don’t really want to talk to her about any of this, but when I think about it, it’s really my only chance. You can’t get an unbiased, outsider opinion out of anyone here in Purgatory, and anyone I might want to talk to has already formed an opinion about the whole situation, or they just don’t care. Shae and I have history, but I trust her to give me advice, or at the very least, listen and be honest.

So I spill, everything, the whole story, right up to the fact that Waverly is probably in the sky right now, or will be soon, off to restart her life. Without me.

“You know you’re an idiot, right?” She says after listening to my whole spiel. “You can’t just decide for her what’s best for her. She’s a grown up, Nicole. And you both have dangerous jobs. Yeah, you guys are gonna get hurt from time to time. And you might even make mistakes and get each other hurt. But, let me tell you, love is precious. It’s rare. And you can’t just throw it away because you’re scared. Waverly can make her own decisions.”

“Yeah, she can, and she decided to go to San Diego,” I say with a sigh, suddenly having lost my appetite.

“Well, what do you expect? She’s heart broken.”

“I know, I know,” I tell her. “I just…It’s too much. You weren’t there, those times we fucked things up because we were worried about each other and she got hurt. I’d rather have her heart broken but alive.”

“Look, you’re an adult too and you can make your decisions,” she says. “But, for the record, I think you’re being dumb. And you’re scared because you love her too much.”

I sigh, nodding, because I know she’s probably right. But it isn’t enough to make me change my mind. I return to eating, thinking about her comment about my weight. A plane roars by overhead and I look out the window, watching as it disappears among the clouds, wondering if it’s carrying the love of my life thousands of miles away from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you all can give this lots of love (comments! kudos! bookmarks!) I'll release another chapter this weekend :) I'd love more feedback, it really helps motivate me. 
> 
> As always, I respond to all comments!
> 
> Exciting stuff coming up in the next couple of chapters, hold onto your butts!


	4. Tiny Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly settles into San Diego, but her heart pines for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving the last chapter, and the fic on a whole, some love you guys <3 Here is another chapter released a little early, as promised.

My apartment doesn’t quite feel like home yet - I don’t know if it ever really will. I’ve been here for a few weeks now and I’ve gotten most of my stuff unpacked, but the things that really made the Homestead feel like home aren’t things I could have taken with me. That house was filled with memories, and I had yet to fill this apartment with any of those. Unless you’d count me eating Pad Thai for 6 nights in a row and screaming/crying to “Didn’t You Know How Much I Loved You” by Kellie Pickler at 5 in the morning as memories. Either way, those aren’t memories that make a place feel homey. The opposite, actually. 

I did make a new friend, though, my first and only friend so far here in San Diego, a woman whose cat I kind of stole from a few doors down. She’s around my age and actually really nice, for someone who first met me when they saw me letting their cat out onto my balcony on a Saturday morning. 

Today, she’s agreed to go with me to Ikea to try and furnish my apartment and make it not seem so…depressing. I’d invited her in after the whole cat debacle (his name is Tiny even though he isn’t, and he still sleeps over my apartment now and then) and she had seemed offended that my place was so bare-bones. We agreed to go out on Thursday night to pick out a couch, a book case, and a coffee table so I could have them delivered on the weekend. And I have a job interview tomorrow at the University of San Diego. Things seem like they might actually be falling into place; by the end of the weekend I’ll have a couch, a job, a friend, and a part time cat. 

I hear a tapping on my door and then my phone vibrates in my pocket with a text saying “I’m here” from Chelsea, my neighbor and friend. I grab my purse and keys off the counter and stride over to the door, swinging it open. “Hey!” I say with a wide smile as I shut the door and lock up behind myself. 

“Well, one of us is going to have to change,” she says, laughing. I look at her and notice that we’re both wearing light washed jeans and a fitted black tee, brown belt and all to boot. “First you steal my cat and now my sense of style?”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t have the market cornered on jeans and a t-shirt,” I tell her with a laugh as we head down the stairs and out of the apartment building, onto the street. One of the biggest adjustments to living in the city is that everyone walks everywhere, here. Back in Purgatory the nearest convenience store was miles and miles away. If you didn’t drive, you weren’t going anywhere. 

The Ikea is a few blocks away, and while we could have Ubered or hailed a cab, the cool evening air is refreshing and it feels good to stretch my legs and get some walking in. Part of the reason I chose San Diego was for the heat, but now to have a break from the sun feels especially nice. 

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out, glancing at the number. It’s Wynonna, FaceTiming me. “Do you mind?” I ask Chelsea, showing her my sister’s face on the screen of my phone. 

“Of course not,” she answers, waving her hand dismissively. I slide the green answer button across the bottom of the screen. 

“Hi Baby Girl!” Wynonna practically yells, before I can even say anything. 

“Hi Nonna,” I answer back, laughing. 

“What are you doing?” She asks me, I’m guessing in reference to the fact that I’m walking down the street kind of late at night and that isn’t my usual thing to do on a weeknight. I switch the camera so she can see my surroundings instead of my face, showing her the buildings and street as we walk. 

“We’re going to Ikea because apparently it’s not acceptable to have only a bed in your apartment,” I tell her, rolling my eyes playfully and shooting a look at Chelsea, who laughs.

“Who’s we?” She asks. I turn my phone to get Chelsea in the frame, who smiles and waves cooperatively. “Ah, I see. Sorry to interrupt your date, I just wanted to see how my big city girl is doing.” She says, winking. 

My cheeks betray me and I feel them heat up and turn red. “It’s not a date!” I tell her. She holds up a hand and nods, unconvinced. I mouth “I’m sorry” to Chelsea, who just shakes her head and smiles. Then she catches me off guard and takes the phone from my hand. 

“Actually, it kind of is a date. Your sister is just a little thick when it comes to taking a hint. Is that typical?” She says, talking to Wynonna now on my phone. 

I lurch over and wrestle my phone back from Chelsea, saying “Bye, Nonna, love you,” and hitting the red end-call button the second the phone is back in my possession. 

“Oh my god,” I say, shoving the phone back into my back pocket. “You two are going to be the death of me.” I’m quick on my feet with my words, but my mind is kind of reeling from what she just said. This is a date? Am I really that oblivious?

Or do I just not look at anyone that way, not anymore.

“Maybe,” Chelsea says. She slides her hand into mine like it’s something we’ve done a thousand times before, no big deal. I think of what she said to Wynonna, how this is in fact a date and I just didn’t realize it. I think of how foreign her hand feels in mine, how the weight of it is different than the hand I’m used to holding, how her fingers fit between mine differently. It isn’t unpleasant, or unwelcome, it’s just…different. 

I clear my throat. “You know, I-I don’t know if I’m really ready to see anyone right now,” I tell her. “Also, if I had known this was a date, I would have dressed nicer.”

“Well, I knew it was a date, and we’re wearing the same thing. So you’re either dressed just fine, or you’re insulting me.” She says. 

“No! I didn’t mean-“ 

She laughs and cuts me off. “I’m kidding, Waves.” Hearing that nickname out of her mouth feels like someone just poured ice water down my back. She seems to pick up on the look on my face, the rigidness of my hand in hers. “And I know you’re not ready to see anyone. I mean, talk about emotionally unavailable,” she says, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. “Living here for a whole month and not having a single piece of furniture is kinda a huge red flag. Unfortunately those are kind of my thing,” she says, laughing. We walk in silence for a moment, silence that I want to fill but I’m not sure what to say. 

“I’m okay with that. I’m fine with casual. We can just be friends, for as long as you want, or whatever you want us to be,” she says, dropping my hand. “But just know, whenever you’re ready…I’ll be first in line. I mean,” she continues, shoving my shoulder playfully, “Tiny has already selected you as his second human. Your fate has been sealed.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

_I got the job!!!_ I text Wynonna on my way home from the University the next day. My heels click against the pavement and I regret not packing a pair of sneakers in my bag so I didn’t have to walk half a mile home in heels. 

_Knew you would, baby girl_ , she responds back a moment later. 

My phone buzzes again. _I’m proud of you, baby sis._

Then again. _My little sis, out in the big city, a new apartment, a new job, a new girlfriend. Who woulda thunk it._

Again. _*winky face emoji*_

_Shut up!!_ I send back to her. 

_Also I have a cat._ I send a few seconds later.

_ But no, really Wave, you’re killing it out there. Keep it up. We all love and miss you. Doc and Dolls say Hi, btw.  _

_I love and miss you guys, too,_ I reply. 

I feel a ping of home sickness, something that isn’t an uncommon occurrence lately. However, the excitement for my new job overrides that sadness. I interviewed for a TA position at the University of San Diego, as I had also applied to be a PhD student, and the TA position will help cover my tuition and expenses while I go for a PhD in Ancient Languages and Historical Preservation. My small town charm came in handy, along with my extensive background in studying ancient languages and my previous education in history, and I’d been offered the job on the spot. 

I get back to my apartment in about a half hour, walking slowly in my heels and while texting Wynonna. My new furniture that Chelsea and I had picked out won’t be delivered until tomorrow, so I still have only my bed. I go to the fridge and pull out a water bottle, realizing that my fridge is just as empty as the rest of my apartment, too. I sigh and plop down on the bed, alone with my thoughts. 

Not truly alone, though, because a certain red head fills my mind. I try not to think of her, I really do. But with things falling into place here in my new home, I just can’t ignore the vast emptiness I still feel in my heart. The fact that no matter how perfect everything seems to be turning out, it just doesn’t feel right. San Diego has given me exactly what I wanted - a fresh start. But it turns out that my heart isn’t as interested in that as I thought. 

I find myself thinking about the way Chelsea held my hand, how her fingers just didn’t feel right in my hand, interlocked with mine. About how we are the same height, so I wouldn’t need to stand on my tip toes to kiss her, wouldn’t need to wrap my hands around the back of her neck and pull her mouth down to mine while my hands wove into her hair to hold her there, trapped against my mouth. 

I can feel my body getting warm, turned on thinking about Nicole, being with her, the way she knew how to please me in a way no one ever had before. My eyes dart over to the box sitting in my closet, the one that holds my vibrator, and I only debate for a few seconds before I pull it out and get back in bed. I know I shouldn’t do this; I need to get her out of my head, I need to move on. But it’s just been so long, too long, and I can’t help myself. 

I use the vibrator and I close my eyes and my mind fills with Nicole. Her body against mine, her hands traveling all over my body, her lips against mine and against every inch of my skin. I remember it so well that it almost feels like she’s there, like it’s her mouth on me, sending my body into waves of pleasure. 

It’s great, fantastic, ecstasy, and I end up laying on my bed, body damp with sweat, breathless. But then the loneliness and sadness creep in, now exacerbated as I realize how alone I am. That that is the only way I’ll ever be with Nicole again; in my dreams, in my fantasies. 

I lay there for a moment longer, recovering, and then get up to put the vibrator away, tears streaming down my face silently. The loneliness is overwhelming, and I miss Nicole more than I have in quite some time. 

So much for the whole moving on thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last 'setting everything up' chapter, peeps! Excitement coming next chapter. Will there be Wayhaught? Stay tuned. 
> 
> Again and always...the more you interact with this the more motivation I get to write more and the more I write, the quicker the next chapter will be released. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	5. My Waverly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But my eyelids are so heavy, and when I let them close, she’s there. Waverly. She smiles at me, wearing a sun dress and a big hat and even bigger sunglasses. My Waverly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feast upon some actual substance! Please comment and let me know what you think! I really want/appreciate feedback. 
> 
> Where do you think this is going? Where do you want it to go?

Shae came when I needed her, and she just kind of never left. It was weird, at first, the way we made a new normal. Of course when I first called her here, I hadn’t even thought she would respond. And there was that night, the first night, the drunken hook up situation, that we both mutually agreed to pretend like didn’t happen. We aren’t back together, but we are currently living together, platonically. 

Waverly left almost a month ago, now, and those first few weeks were rough. I hadn’t been doing that well before, either, but knowing that she was gone sent me into a spiral. It was pathetic, really, how much I unravelled. This whole situation was my doing, exactly what I wanted; and how the hell did one person have such a hold over me? 

Shae had been in between positions and she knew me well enough to know that I needed…something. Help, I guess. So she stayed. She let me drink myself into a stupor for a few nights in a row, watched as I called out of work because I was waking up still totally drunk and curing my hangovers by drinking again by 10am. 

And then she started kicking my ass back into gear. We got into a screaming match over a flask of whiskey on the 4th night of my binge drinking that she ultimately won, and that was it. The next day she personally drove me to work, with a packed lunch and everything. She picked me up at the end of the day and we went grocery shopping, restocking my kitchen which was basically empty, except for some expired stuff. She cooked a stir-fry while ordering me around the house, telling me to clean the bathroom and put in a load of wash. 

After that night, I started to get my shit together. Yeah, I was still a shell of myself, still horribly depressed, but she stopped me from completely ruining the life I had built here in Purgatory. From losing my job and probably drinking myself right into the very jail cells I watch over.

So, now she has taken over the guest bedroom in my house and we are living quite amicably together. It turns out we get along really well as friends, much better than we did when our short-lived marriage was fizzling out. I enjoy her company, and she enjoys mine, and I feel a lot less alone than I have for the past 7 or 8 months. However long it’s been now. 

I can’t help but wonder, sometimes, what Waverly would think. I can’t help but notice how even though I’m not alone anymore, not technically, I still don’t feel whole. I’d always told myself that I wasn’t looking for my other half, because I was already whole. And I had always felt that way, like I was whole, that I didn’t need anyone to make me feel whole. Until I had Waverly and then I lost her. 

The door opening shakes me out of my thoughts. I’m sitting on the couch, a bowl of Pad Thai in my lap, courtesy of Shae, with a noodle hanging out of my mouth as Shae enters the living room. 

“Howdy,” I say in greeting, slurping the noodle into my lips. 

“I got the job!” She tells me. I knew she had been interviewing to work at the local hospital as a cardiologist, and I also knew that they would gladly hire her. It’s not every day a world class cardiologist walks into the Ghost River Triangle with intentions to stay and work. 

“Of course you did,” I tell her with a smile. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” she says as she takes off her jacket. She goes to the fridge and pours herself a glass of lemonade, leaning on the counter as she sips on it. “So I was thinking, you know.”

“Uh oh,” I interrupt playfully. “Is that that smell?” I ask, sniffing the air suspiciously.

She rolls her eyes at me. “I was thinking,” she repeats, “I know I’ve basically been squatting here, and now I’ve got a job, so I can get my own place. Like, if you want me to,” she says. 

I shake my head in an exaggerated manner. “Shae, you haven’t been _squatting_ here. Are you crazy?” I say, swallowing my mouthful of food. “You…you saved me.” I tell her. “From myself. And you’ve made this place a home again. Plus, you’re cooking is just, geez, it’s top notch.” I say, gesturing to my empty bowl. “I know it’s probably weird that we’re living together, being ex-wives and all, but you don’t have to move out. If you don’t want to.” I mean what I’m saying. We were only together for a few months before our short lived love came to an end. It was really above and beyond for her to stay here and make sure I didn’t totally fall apart.

She sips her lemonade, watching me intently as I speak. When she doesn’t interject, I continue. “If you do, though, by all means, go. I’m okay, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not going to combust or fall apart if you leave. Promise.”

She seems to be thinking for a minute. “Okay,” she says finally. “Well, this is kind of working out, so I’ll stick around, if that’s really okay with you. But I’m paying half the bills, and I don’t want to hear about it. And if I see a house on the market that I like, we’ll go with the flow. Sound okay?” 

I open my mouth, but she cuts me off. “No arguments about the bills. Non-negotiable,” she says, easily seeing where I was going. 

“Fine,” I mutter. “Yeah, that sounds good to me,” I tell her. “Congrats again, on the job.”

Shae smiles and grabs a bowl of the same Pad Thai I had been eating and plops down on the other end of the couch. I toss the end of the blanket I have covering my lap to her and she pulls it up over her legs. 

“You better not have started season two of You without me!” She says, eyeing the TV screen as I open Netflix. 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

My body hurts so bad, but in all of the right ways. The only really uncomfortable part of the hang over from rock our weekend rock climbing trip are the blisters on my hands, which hurt basically any time I touch anything or move my hands at all. I’m not excited to have to go back to work tomorrow and function like a normal human being with useable hands, but I’ll deal with that in 12 hours. 

  
For now, Shae and I are trying to keep each other awake on the drive back to Purgatory. When I had been with Waverly, we never even left the Ghost River Triangle. We were always caught up in something in Purgatory, or so relieved to not be in immediate danger that we just reveled in doing nothing at all. And then I broke up with her and immediately slipped into an unspeakable depression and had no desire to do anything other than sulk in my own self pity. 

It’s been 8 months now, since I broke up with Waverly, and having Shae here has really snapped me out of whatever weird funk I’ve been in. I’ve even come full circle enough to regret my decision, to realize exactly what I had and that it was none of my business to decide for her that we couldn’t be together. Not when it was what I wanted so badly, not when it was her decision to make if it got too much. So, now, instead of grappling with thinking that we could never be together, that it would never be safe, that I was doing the right thing even though it would damn near kill me, I’m left with the reality that I screwed up. That I made a huge mistake but realized it almost a whole year too late. 

Alas, Waverly is gone now, moved on in San Diego. I’ve heard through the grapevine that she has a new job, that she’s getting her PhD. She even has a cat, which is funny because she never took that much of an interest in Calamity Jane. But the point is that she’s doing okay. She has a new life in a new city and she’s just fine. Without me. When I broke up with her I thought she would be better off because she’d be safer without me around. Now I know that she’s better off because I’m a freaking moron and I don’t deserve her, not after I threw away what we had. 

“Hey, where’d you go?” Shae asks, tapping me on my shoulder lightly. “Don’t go sleeping on me, Haught. Do you need to switch?” She asks, meaning that she’ll take over and drive the final stretch home. She has already driven the first half of the 9 hour drive, so I’m not going to let her do that. 

“No no,” I tell her. “I’m awake, don’t worry.” For good measure, I take a sip of the cappuccino sitting in the center cupholder. “Remind me why we needed to go climbing 300 miles from home?”

Shae rolls her eyes, pulling her legs up onto the seat so she’s sitting with them criss-crossed underneath her. I have no idea how any adult could be flexible enough to do that, especially while in a moving car, but she looks comfortable. She opens the window and hangs out her hand, despite the fact that it’s almost below freezing out. “The open road is good for the soul,” she responds. 

Now I roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure,” I say, unconvinced. I feel her cast a glance at me and I smile. I’m complaining a lot, yes, but I’m not upset about the trip, or the drive. It really did feel good to go away, and especially good to climb again. It felt good to get out of Purgatory. Waverly really did have the right idea. 

Finally, at a little before 10pm, we roll past the “Welcome to Purgatory” sign. 

“Hallelujah!” Shae exclaims. I can’t say that I share the enthusiasm for the small town I call home, but I do share the enthusiasm for the nice warm bed I know is waiting for me at home. 

“Close that damn window,” I say to Shae.

“Fine,” she complies. “Wouldn’t want your last two braincells to catch a cold.”

I’m about to give her a witty comeback when I see a car further down the road, pulled over with its hood up, engine smoking. Shae sees it too, and when I turn my head towards her she interjects before I can even open my mouth. 

“No,” she says. “Uh uh. You’re not on duty, Nicole. They won’t even know it’s you driving by.”

“It’s a small town, Shae, they’ll know it’s me. Just like I already know those are the Hendersons.” Stacy and Jack were pretty well known at the station because it seemed like one of us got called down there at least once a week for some kind of dispute. I’m not exactly thrilled at the prospect of standing out in the cold trying to fix their car with my sore and throbbing hands, or having to give them a lift home because they’re on the outskirts of town and a tow truck would be hard to come by in a reasonable time frame. But I’m an officer and I can’t just drive by. 

She groans, banging her head back into the headrest, defeated. “Fine,” she mutters. Then she says something that sounds like “God damn hero complex,” under her breath, but I can’t be sure. 

I pull my car up about 10 feet behind the Hendersons, and before I shut the engine off I can hear the yelling. They’re definitely fighting about something, presumably emotions running high since they’re stuck out in the cold in the middle of nowhere at almost 10pm. Understandable. 

“Stay here,” I tell Shae as I unbuckle my seatbelt. 

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” she says, already on her phone and scrolling through social media.

I step out of my car, reflexively putting my hand on my hip where my belt and holster usually would be, had I been on shift. It’s a little disconcerting to be going into this unarmed, but all I’m going to do is ask them if they need a phone to call a tow truck or if they want a ride home. Easy peasy. 

“How fucking stupid can you be! Fucking useless old hag!” I hear Jack yelling at his wife, Stacy. They both seem oblivious to my approach as Stacy is rummaging through her purse while Jack fumbles around under the hood, even though it’s pitch black out and there’s no way he can actually see anything. 

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson,” I say, announcing my presence as I approach them. 

“Officer Haught, oh thank goodness!” Stacy says, finally giving up on her ransacking her own bag. Jack grunts at me and continues working under the hood. 

“Everything okay here?” I ask. I wish I had my flashlight on me, wish I had a walkie to call in where I was and what I was doing and request a truck. I can always call the station, but the walkie is a much more direct route. 

“Well, our engine seems to have overheated,” Stacy explains. “And I must have left my phone back at the restaurant and it’s too dark out here to see a darn thing. Shouldn’t there be more street lights?” She asks me. 

I smile at the woman. “I agree, there should be more street lights. I’ll talk to Nedley about it,” I say. “Do you want to use my phone to call for a tow?” I could offer them a ride home, but I figure if they can just call for a tow, I can head home quicker and still have fulfilled my duty as a police officer by helping. 

“That would be wonderf-“ Stacy starts, but is quickly cut off by Jack. 

“We ain’t takin’ no help from that dyke,” he spits, slamming down the hood. As he stumbles around the side of the car, it quickly becomes clear to me that he’s extremely intoxicated and agitated. So much for just giving them my cell phone quick and then taking off. 

“Excuse me?” I say, taken aback by the use of the derogatory term. It then dawns on me exactly how many times I’ve taken him away in the back of my car after he had beaten the snot out of his wife in a drunken fit of rage. He’s not exactly my biggest fan. 

“I said, we ain’t takin’ no help from no fuckin’ _dyke_ ,” he repeats himself slowly, emphasizing the last word of his sentence with hiss. 

Okay, that’s what I thought he said. 

“Jack,” Stacy says. The man whips around and slaps his wife across the face, hard, hard enough that she stumbles backwards into the car and her hands instantly go up, covering her face defensively. 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down,” I say, holding my hands out at around hip level, searching for ideas to deescalate the situation. Most of being a good cop is being able to deescalate situations like these. I’ve done it a million times before. 

“It’s okay,” Stacy says, fixing her hair as she walks over to her husband. “Right honey? We can let her call us a tow truck.” She holds his arm and I see her rubbing his forearm softly, clearly trying to calm him down. 

Jack looks down at her, at her hands on his arm, and for a second I think she might have done it, might have gotten through to him and calmed him down. I see the switch flip though in his eyes, know what’s coming, before he explodes. 

“Don’t you fucking patronize me!” He screams, and easily takes his wife by the shoulder and slams her to the ground. She hits the dusty clay with a thud and immediately curls into a ball, assuming the fetal position. It’s obvious that this has happened before, and she’s expecting for him to keep coming after her. But I’m here this time. 

“Mr. Henderson!” I exclaim, throwing myself between the two. “Sir, step back. Now.” My tone is professional, authoritative. Jack is breathing so heavily that his shoulders are visibly heaving up and down. His fists are balled at his side and his eyes dart wildly between me and his wife. I put up a hand, pressing the tips of my fingers into his chest. “Now, Mr. Henderson,” I say, a warning in my voice. One I hope he’ll heed, because I don’t have any way of backing it up. I have a gun in my glove compartment, but that will do me little good at the moment. 

“Is everything okay?” I hear Shae call out from behind us, from the car. I hear the door opening, and I look back at her just as her feet hit the ground. I don’t know how much she saw, how aware she is of what just unfolded, but the most helpful thing she can do is just stay in the car and out of the way. 

“Stay in the car, Shae,” I yell over to her. I meet her eyes and she reads them quickly. She seems reluctant, and doesn’t move, unsure what to do. “In the car, Shae, I mean it,” I say again, and she finally gets back in and shuts the door. I can only hope she’s smart enough to be calling 911, can only hope that I allowed her to see enough of my panic that she knows something’s wrong and that I can’t exactly handle this by myself. 

At the same time that I turn my head back to look at Jack, I hear the click of a safety being turned off, and then I’m staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“I’m getting real tired of you freaking women, patronizing me, thinking you’re better than me,” he slurs. “Coming over to my own house and dragging me out like I’m some no good animal,” he continues. “Calling the cops because you’re too much of a pussy to accept discipline from your husband like a woman should,” he says, his gun now pointing down at Stacy, his wife, who has remained on the ground behind me. 

This is escalating really quickly, much too quickly for my liking. If Shae did call for back up, I have no way of knowing how far way the nearest patrol car is. I have no way of knowing if she even did call, and I don’t dare take my eyes off of Jack and his gun, or give him any indication that the police might have been called. I just need to try to deescalate, and hope that it either works or help arrives. 

“Okay, Jack,” I say slowly, stepping into his line of fire, blocking his view of his wife. He levels up the gun at my chest and I swallow, acutely aware of the fact that I’m not wearing a bullet proof vest. Why would I be? I was just trying to come home from a weekend trip. “Let’s not do anything we’ll regret.” I try to use the word we so he doesn’t see it as me singling him out as the bad guy, accusing him of anything. 

“I wouldn’t fucking regret it!” He exclaims, screaming now. Spit flies out of his mouth in his fury. Disproportionate, drunken fury. I know enough to know there’s little chance I can reason with him. I take a chance and throw a look back at the car, at Shae. To my utter relief, she’s on the phone, looking worried from behind the windshield, watching the scene unfold before her. 

“Offing that cunt would only make my life better!” He screams, taking a few steps to the side so he can line his gun up with his wife again. Stacy starts audibly sobbing behind me. 

“Please, Jack, I’m sorry,” she begs. 

“Jack, you’re drunk,” I say, keeping my voice low and level. “Don’t make any rash decisions. Let’s just cool down and take a minute, okay? I know you love your wife.”

“How in the fuck would you know that?” He snarls at me. The gun comes back to my chest, which actually is what I wanted. Mrs. Henderson is a civilian, and it’s my job to protect her. I’ve been trained for this, she hasn’t. “Fucking locking me up, writin’ me citations for domestic abuse,” he continues, now actually jabbing me in the chest with his gun. I don’t back up, don’t concede an inch. 

It’s becoming clearer to me that I won’t be able to talk him down. That leaves me another option, other than just waiting and crossing my fingers. I can try to disarm him. He is drunk and would probably be easy to throw off balance. It’s risky, and I need to choose exactly the right second to make my move. 

“Like you know what’s best for _my_ woman! Like you’re God himself! When you’re just a no good lousy _dyke_!” He screams. I see his hand moving for his face, like he’s going to wipe sweat off his forehead, and I see my chance. The barrel of his gun leaves the fabric of my shirt and I grab his wrist with one hand and haul myself forward, into him, to catch him off guard. 

Before I can pull myself completely forward and out of the line of the gun, before I can start to wrestle it out of his hands, there’s a loud bang. My ears immediately start to ring, but that’s the least of my worries. 

I’ve been shot before. In the academy, they shot us with rubber bullets. Enough to hurt like hell but not do any damage. I’ve been shot with real bullets in real life situations, but I’ve always had a vest. 

  
So when Mr. Henderson fires off a round directly above my belly button, at first I don’t know what happened. I don’t feel anything, but I know something is wrong. Really wrong. I think about how whenever I saw someone get shot, they always had that few seconds where it seemed like they might be okay. Like it didn’t even hurt. And then they’d hit the ground. And now I understand. 

I clutch my stomach, as I stare directly into the eyes of Mr. Henderson, the man who just shot me. He looks surprised, frozen, his gun still raised, finger still on the trigger. I pull my hands away and see that they’re covered in blood. My blood. 

And then I crumple to the ground. 

Everything becomes a blur. I hear another shot go off, but I don’t know who fired it or who it was directed at. I don’t think it was at me. My body feels like it’s on fire and I can’t breathe. I just really, really can’t breathe. Or move. I stare up at the stars, thinking about how lucky I am to be able to see them so clearly, thanks to the minimal light pollution in Purgatory, especially away from the center of town. 

Screaming. Someone is screaming, somewhere. It sounds like I’m listening to it from underwater. Then there is someone near me, someone touching me, leaning over me. It takes me a few seconds, but I recognize her. It’s Shae. I told her to stay in the truck. What is she doing?

“Nicole,” she says, staring directly into my eyes, which struggle to focus on her. I try to turn my head and it just kind of flops to the side, barely in my control. “Nicole honey, hang on. Help is coming,” she says. I watch as she shrugs out of her jacket, wads it up into a ball, and then presses it onto my stomach. Trying to staunch the bleeding. 

“Ow,” I mumble, wincing at the pressure. My breathing is shallow and ragged and it seems like no matter how many breaths I take, it will never be enough. I’m light headed, dizzy, in so much pain. So tired. 

I close my eyes, thinking I can just rest them for a moment, just a moment. “No, Nicole,” Shae says, bringing a hand slick with my blood to my face, picking my cheek up off the ground while she maintained pressure on my wound with the other hand. “You have to stay wake. Please, stay awake. They’re coming, Nick, hear the sirens?” 

I don’t hear anything. Even her words sounds very far away. “I’m tired,” I mumble between ragged breaths. 

“I know, baby, I know,” Shae says. I think she’s crying, but my vision is too blurry to tell for sure. My head is too heavy to turn it and try to see her better. “Stay awake,” she pleads. “Stay. Don’t leave me.”

It’s the least I could do for her, really. Stay. Stay awake. It’s not a complicated request. I blink hard and try to draw in a deep breath, but it’s like trying to drink out of a straw with a hole in it. I really try. I really do. I try to stay awake, to stay with Shae, to stay for her like she stayed for me. 

But my eyelids are so heavy, and when I let them close, she’s there. Waverly. She smiles at me, wearing a sun dress and a big hat and even bigger sunglasses. My Waverly. 

“Nicole!” Shae sounds so far away. I can hear the sirens now, but I don’t care. I tried to stay awake but I can’t. And Waverly is here. I’m with her. Again, finally. I hear different voices around me, not just Shae. But they’re so far away, a different world. I can’t bring myself to try to open my eyes. I put my hand in hers, into Waverly’s, and let her lead me away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger, peeps. Show this some love and I just might release the next chapter a little early!
> 
> Let me know what you think! Where do you think this is going? Where do you want it to go?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


	6. Still Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's something. Yeah, it's definitely something. 
> 
> I'll release again this weekend if this gets some loving :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, give kudos, etc. You really, truly are driving this fic forward. I appreciate each and every one of you.

Of course, as soon as all of my furniture arrived, my life started to get hectic. I finally had a place to put all of my things, my books and my pictures and other various knick knacks. But now I have no time to unpack.

When I was in college before, things were a lot different. I kind of strung together my first degree by taking lots of different courses, getting credit by taking placement tests, taking classes at multiple different universities. I was kind of all over the place. 

Now, the University of San Diego is my home for the next 4-8 years while I chase some fancy letters to put in front of my name. While I try to become Dr. Earp, as horrifying as that sounds. As Wynonna said, I’m the first Earp to go to college and I couldn’t just settle for an Associate’s or something. I had to go all the way. 

There’s definitely been a learning curve during this first week of classes. I met my thesis advisor and we get along okay, I think. She’s pretty cold and closed off and hard to read, but she hasn’t yelled at me and I think I’m living up to expectations, so I’ll take it.

Between starting my research, taking supplementary courses, and teaching several intermediate history and dead language classes, I sometimes feel like I’m in over my head, and it’s only been a week and a half since the semester started. But I’ll get used to it. It’s nice to be busy, to be distracted, to have a purpose. 

Now, it’s Friday and I’m exhausted at the end of a long, grueling week, but I stand in front of my bathroom mirror and put on some lipgloss, toying with the purposefully messy bun I constructed on the top of my head. Chelsea is coming over to unpack. She was appalled when she came over to drop off Tiny yesterday and saw that all my new furniture was still piled in the center of the room and I hadn’t made any further progress unpacking. 

“You’re killing me, Earp,” she had said, running a hand down her face. I don’t know what it is with this girl and being so concerned with the inside of my apartment and my furniture, but I find it kind of endearing. Mostly amusing, but also endearing. 

I hear a tap on the door and Tiny runs towards it, signaling that it’s his real mama outside. As soon as I undo the deadbolt and turn the knob to open the door she walks in like she owns the place, walking straight past me and putting a crumpled paper bag down on the kitchen counter. 

“Hi?” I say as I close the door and flip the deadbolt back in place. I raise an eyebrow as I turn around, watching as she gets the two glasses I own from their place in the cupboard and brings them over to the counter. It’s like I’m the guest here. 

“Time to make this place more suitable for Tiny,” she says as she walks over to the paper bag. She pulls out one of those window perches for cats, a little shelf that hangs from the window so they can lounge and bask in the sun. Then, she pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, entirely too much for two people. “But first, we drink.”

She’s so much different than anyone I’ve ever known. The way she comes bursting into my apartment like she owns the place, like we’re old childhood friends and have that level of comfort together. Which obviously she does, but I don’t. I guess it’s a difference between her growing up here in San Diego and me growing up in Purgatory. While her chaotic energy makes me kind of nervous, it’s also a really nice change as the same time. 

Thank God I paid to have the furniture already assembled, because within an hour we’re already way too buzzed to coherently move the furniture around, never mind put it together. 

“Okay, but listen,” Chelsea says, pushing the book case across the room for what had to be the 7th time. “I’ve read my shit about Feng shui and if you put this right _here_ ,” she says, emphasizing the last word of her sentence as she slides the book case directly where I’m guaranteed to stub my toe into it on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, “You’ll be like, a billionaire soon, probably.”

I give her a look with my eyebrows furrowed and my lower lip revealing my bottom teeth as she waves her arms around while she talks, like I’m concerned she might have lost her mind. I know she’s joking, just being a rascal, but she truly looks insane. “Right. A billionaire, soon, probably.” I repeat. 

She’s only able to maintain her serious poker face for a few more seconds and then she bursts out laughing. She brushes past me and hooks her pinky into mine, yanking me around with her as she plops onto the couch. She reaches out for her glass of whiskey and folds her legs up underneath her, sitting so she’s facing me as she sips her whiskey. 

“I don’t know how you drink it like that,” I say, scrunching my face after swallowing a mouthful. 

“Yeah, well, I know hardly anything about you,” she says. I was expecting some sort of joke, a crude remark, god only knows, so I’m a little taken a back. “We’ve been hanging out for weeks now and the only things I know about you are things I’ve pried out of you. And you basically refuse to settle into your apartment. So, shoot. What’s your story?”

“This is like a reverse divorce,” I say with a shaky laugh. “We’re sharing custody of Tiny and trying to get to know each other.” I’m trying to get myself off the hook, because I really don’t feel like talking about myself. I don’t want to open up to Chelsea. I enjoy her company and I think she’s great, I really do. But my scars are still too fresh to let anyone new into my life. After almost a year, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to do that again. I just know I’m not ready now. 

Wynonna always has the worst possible timing, but this time when my phone rings on the table, I’m only feigning my annoyance as I roll my eyes. Saved by the bell.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this,” I say to Chelsea, walking over into the kitchen as if that really puts any space between us in my matchbox of an apartment. 

“Hi, Nonna,” I chirp into the phone. I haven’t spoken to her in a couple days, and I miss her. It’s just an added plus that she saved me from having to actually talk about myself to Chelsea. 

“Hi, baby girl!” My sister answers. Her voice is a little off, and I hear a lot of commotion going on around her. I bite my lip, trying to pinpoint the noises. 

There’s a few seconds of silence on the line. “What’s up?” I ask her. Sometimes I’ll call her just to chat, but she’s not really one to initiate that kind of thing. If she’s calling, there’s usually a reason for her to be calling. 

“So, uh,” she says. I hear some sort of beeping sound get louder and then fade around her, but I still can’t figure out what it is or where she is. “Look, I’m sorry if this is weird but Dolls said I should at least call you and ask.”

She falls silent again. “Ask me what?” I ask her, starting to get a little confused and nervous. “Where are you?” I add quickly. 

“Well…hypothetically speaking…” she starts. 

“Nonna, just spit it out already. You’re going to give me a headache.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” she repeats, “If something happened to Nicole, would you want to know?”

My chest tightens instantly, but I try to take a breath. I don’t know what’s going on, so there’s no need to panic. Then I think about it. Would I want to know?

“See, I knew I shouldn’t have called. I-I’m sorry baby girl. I didn’t want to disrupt your new life out there or anything but I just…we just…it felt weird…” Now I know something is wrong, for sure. Wynonna Earp doesn’t stutter or fumble for words.

“Nonna! Stop. I mean…yeah, I guess I would, if it was something like…you know, life threatening, or earth shattering.”

There’s a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line again. More voices, more beeping. “Wynonna?” I ask. I can tell she hasn’t hung up because of the background noise, but it seems like she isn’t there. 

“You tell her,” I hear my sister say. There’s some rustling noises as the phone gets transferred to whoever Wynonna was talking to. At this point, I’m pacing. Chelsea has gotten up from the couch and is standing with her hands leaning on the counter, watching me with a concerned look. 

“Can someone just please tell me what in the heck is going on!” I exclaim, as soon as I hear a breath on the other end of the phone. 

“Waverly, it’s me.” Dolls is talking to me now. “Nicole…Nicole was shot. It isn’t good.”

The words make me feel like an icicle just sliced cleaning through my chest, piercing my heart. I’m frozen, unable to respond, to move, to think. She was shot? Is she alive? I want to ask, but I can’t bear to do so. What if the answer is no?

“Waves,” I hear Chelsea say gently after several seconds of my statue impersonation. She takes the phone from my hand, which remains by my face as if I’m still holding it to my ear. 

“Um, hi. You broke Waverly,” she says into the phone. I watch her face and start to pace again as Dolls presumably talks to her. After a moment, she nods and then ends the call. 

“Waves,” she says again, still as gentle as I’ve ever heard her. I feel her hands, grabbing me by the waist to stop my pacing. I bring my hand to my mouth and start to chew my nails absentmindedly, something I haven’t done since probably the fourth grade. 

“What do you want to do?”

“Is she…alive?” I ask, finally meeting her eyes. 

“Yes, she’s alive,” she answers. “Agent Dolls didn’t give me the full details but he said she’s alive and in surgery right now.” I nod and try to start pacing, but her hands hold me in place. I make a mental note of how good she is in this type of situation, how she can rein in her rambunctious, boisterous personality to take care of someone in need. But at the moment, that’s all background noise. “Waverly,” she says, trying to get my attention. “Listen to me. She’s alive, and they’re trying to fix her, but it’s serious. What do you want to do?”

What do I want to do? I want to pretend like Wynonna never called. I want to not care. I want my heart to not be beating 200 beats per minute while the reality of what I’ve just been told sinks in. I want to not feel like the earth is falling out from underneath me. Why should I care, really? Who is Nicole to me anymore?

My heart knows the answer to that, but my brain tells me that I shouldn’t be so concerned. It’s sad and unfortunate and I feel really bad for her, but it really shouldn’t be effecting me as much as it is. 

But I know what I want to do. I want to go to Purgatory. I want to rush to the hospital, I want to be there, I want to be there no matter what it is I might be there for. But is that even my place? To go there? In all the conversations I’ve had with Wynonna, Dolls, Doc, they’ve never so much as mentioned her, because they (correctly) assumed that’s what I wanted. So how do I know if she would even still want me there? She hadn’t seemed to care that much when I left. I’m moving on and starting a new life here, so why wouldn’t she be doing the same back home?

“I…I don’t know,” I answer Chelsea finally, biting my lower lip. “I want to go there, but I don’t know if I should…it doesn’t feel like my place…”

Chelsea finally releases me to my pacing, watching me thoughtfully with a concerned look in her eyes as she leans against the counter. 

“Well, everything makes sense now,” she mutters, half under her breath. I give her a questioning look. “Your inability to settle in here. Your mysterious past. Your broken heart. It’s her, isn’t it?” She watches me and I don’t give her any discernible answer, but she nods. “Look, Waves, I don’t know the story and I don’t know her and I barely know you. But I do know that you love her, and I know from experience that if you don’t go and she d-… if things don’t… turn out well, you’ll never forgive yourself.” I stop pacing, trying to digest what she’s saying to me with so many other things whirling around my mind. “So I say fuck whether it’s _your place_ or not. Listen to your heart. Life’s too short to do anything else.” 

I stare at her, kind of shocked, kind of amazed. There’s obviously a lot more to Chelsea than I thought. But then again, how could I have gotten to know her when I’ve been keeping her at arm’s length? 

“Alright, Dr. Phil,” I say, managing a weak smile at her. “You’re right. I should go.”

“Cool,” she says, staring at her phone screen. “I already found you a red eye. Purgatory, right?” I think I’ve only told her one time where I’m from, so I’m surprised she remembers. If I wasn’t so consumed by my worry about Nicole, I might be able to pay more attention to the guilt gnawing at me over how poorly I’ve treated my friendly neighbor who obviously cares about me a lot more than I thought she did. 

“Yes,” I say as she hands me the phone. Of course it’s not as easy as just hopping on a flight from San Diego to Purgatory. There’s no airport in the Ghost River Triangle, so my itinerary consists of 2 connecting flights and a 90 minute drive into town. I groan as she takes the phone back.

“Uh, not to rush ya,” she says, “But you do realize that flight leaves in less than 2 hours and the next one is….” She pauses, scrolling, “Tomorrow at 6pm.” It goes unsaid that it might be too late if I miss this flight. Hell, it might be too late even if I make this flight. But I have to at least try. 

“Right!” I say, springing into action. It feels marvelously good to have something to do, something to occupy my mind, as I rip my suitcase out from under my bed and start throwing clothes into it. I gather my passport and Chelsea sets up a backpack for me with some snacks, mostly whatever random food I happen to have lying around the apartment put into plastic baggies. Better than nothing. 

“Your Uber will be here in 5 minutes,” Chelsea says, once I’m pretty much ready to go. I double check that I have my ID, passport, wallet, the necessities. I purchase my ticket for the flight on my phone, and figure I’ll do the online check in process while I’m in the Uber on the way to the airport. 

“Come on, I’ll wait for your ride with you,” Chelsea says, shooing me towards the door as she picks up my suitcase. 

Several minutes later, we flag down the black Prius and it’s time for me to go. “Thanks, Chelsea, for everything. You’re a life saver,” I tell her, kissing her cheek before slinging my arms around her neck as I hug her. 

She hugs me back and then releases me, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t thank me,” she says. “Just go get your girl. Good luck, Waves.”

“Thank you,” I say again anyways. “I should be back in a few days, hopefully.” My mind flashes through all of the calls I’m going to have to make to school about being away for an emergency. I’ll deal with that Monday. “Oh, shit, Tiny,” I say, remembering that he is currently lounging in my bathroom sink. I take my apartment key off of my fob and hand it to her. “Here,” I say. “I’ll get it back from you when I come back,” I say. I feel no qualms about giving her to the key to my apartment. Then I climb into the back of the Uber. 

“Good luck,” she says again, smiling at me as she shuts the door. 

“Airport?” The man driving asks me, glancing at me int he rearview mirror. 

“Yes, please. The airport.” I say. I take a deep breath as we pull away, and then I take out my phone, pulling up my texts to Wynonna. 

_I’m catching the next flight_ , I send to her. _Can you have someone pick me up around 6:15am? If not I’ll get a cab._

The airport is pretty close, luckily, so it only takes about 15 minutes to get there. Which is good, because my flight leaves in an hour now, and I still need to check in and get through TSA. 

My phone buzzes with a text from Wynonna. _Of course, baby girl. Doc will be there._

My fingers are itching to ask her if she has any updates, but I refrain. If she had anything earth shattering to tell me, she would do it, right? I don’t know. Either way, I’m about to get on a plane and then onto another with only 20 minutes to catch it, and I can’t afford to be any more distracted than I already am. I’d also rather spend my flight hoping that I’ll make it in time thanthinking about how I’m going to spend the rest of my life without Nicole in it. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

My two flights and the ride to the hospital from the airport go by in a blur. Doc isn’t one for small talk or emotions so we ride most of the way to the hospital in silence, which is fine with me. It feels so weird to be home, especially under these circumstances. I’d planned to come back during winter break, to visit and be with friends and family, but now here I am, under completely different circumstances. 

Doc drops me off at the ambulance entrance and I dash into the waiting room. Wynonna and Dolls jump up when I enter and they each wrap me in a hug. I look up at Wynonna, unshed tears in my eyes, ready to overflow at any moment, brought on by nervousness and adrenaline. “Third room on the left,” she says, reading my mind. “She’s been out of surgery for a couple hours,” she says. I take off down the hall before she can say anything else. “Waverly, wait,” she calls after me, but I’m already at the door. 

Already staring at Nicole, my Nicole, laying on the hospital bed with tubes going into her mouth and IVs running into her arm. And then I notice the woman who is sitting in the chair by the bed, slumped over with her upper body leaning on the bed, facing away from the door. Her hand rests on Nicole’s thigh, and I realize she’s asleep. I remain in the doorway, confused, unable to pry my eyes away from Nicole. 

Wynonna has caught up to me by now. “Waves,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. 

“Who is that?” I ask, but a memory flashes through my mind and I already know who it is. Shae. Nicole’s ex wife. 

The woman stirs, woken up by our voices and probably my eyes burning holes into her. She sits up and I see her look at Nicole’s face and check the monitor before she turns her attention to us. 

“Waverly,” she says tiredly, standing up, motioning for me to come in. I look at Wynonna, who seems unsure how this situation is going to unfold, and she just shrugs her shoulders, motioning with her eyes for me to go into the room. 

“Shae,” I say tentatively as I walk into the room. But I’m not looking at her. My eyes are only for Nicole. She looks so pale, so weak as she lays there. A shell of the fiery red head I know, so strong and brave. It’s hard to see her hurt, so helpless. I walk over to the bed and gently lay my hand on her shin, barely touching her for fear of somehow hurting her. I half expect her eyes to open at my touch, but they don’t, of course. 

“It’s good you’re here,” Shae says. She sounds tired. “She would want that. She would want you to be here.” Her voice is strained, a few octaves too high, and she swipes her hand under her eyes quickly. 

I meet her eyes, seeing the sadness they hold in their depths. “Tell me everything,” I say. “Please.” I’m confused as to why she’s here; I know the divorce was finalized a long time ago; but there’s other times to talk about that. I need to know what happened, and I need to know that she’s going to be okay. 

“We were coming home from a climbing trip,” she says. Nicole is climbing again. That’s great, really. “And she pulled over to help a couple whose car was broken down. I didn’t want to, but she insisted she had to help…” she says, trailing off, swallowing hard. Then she turns her attention back to me. “It all happened so fast. The man…he was already irate when we got there. Things just…escalated. I don’t know,” she says, losing her voice once more. She brings the knuckle of her index finger to her lips, pressing it there, trying to regain her composure. “He hit his wife and she…she got in between them. The next thing I knew I saw a gun. She wasn’t wearing her belt. I didn’t know she had a gun in the glove compartment, I could have-“ she stops again, tears now freely flowing down her cheeks. 

“Hey,” I say. “It’s okay.” I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, trying to reassure her. She nods, sniffling, and swallows again. 

“She tried to get the gun from him. I guess she felt like it was her only choice. The gun went off in the scuffle and- and- he shot her.” She says the words like it’s the first time she’s said them, like she’s finally coming to term with things. I can only imagine what it was like for her, to be there, to have been here the whole time in the hospital while she was in surgery. “And then he shot himself.”

“Oh, Nicole,” I say, exhaling loudly. My eyes scan over the multiple monitors around her again, taking in the assortment of machinery that I’m assuming is keeping her alive. 

“Because he was using some jerry rigged gun and homemade bullets, the damage was worse than it would have been normally.” She slips into her professional I’M A DOCTOR voice. This side of things is more comfortable for her to talk about, easier for her to separate herself from. “So the bullet basically exploded inside of her. Her aorta was nicked which caused massive internal bleeding, she had a collapsed lung, her liver was damaged, and a fragment of the bullet was lodged in her spine. Well, it still is. They couldn’t remove it at the same time as the other repairs; it’s too complicated of a surgery and she was already under for so long.”

I listen intently, trying to register everything she’s telling me. I’m not a doctor, but I’m not totally inept about anatomy and physiology, so I know that Nicole’s injuries were severe. “She was bleeding out internally almost immediately, and she couldn’t breathe because of her collapsed lung. She coded twice in the ambulance on the way to the hospital,” she says, absentmindedly reaching out to place her hand over Nicole’s. 

“Her surgery went about as well as we could have hoped. But she lost a lot of blood, and she was without oxygen for almost 3 minutes during her second code. And the bullet in her spine….there’s just no way to know what kind of damage was done until she wakes up.”

I perk up a little at her words. “So she’s going to wake up?” I ask. 

“The anesthesia wore off hours ago,” Shae says, shaking her head slightly. “That machine is breathing for her right now. We can only hope that her body just needs some time to recover, and then she’ll wake up. We just…we just have to hope, and be here for her,” she explains. 

I nod, my lips quivering, eyes focused on the tube running into her mouth. “I’m so glad you’re here. That you came. I know no one knows how much a person is aware of their surroundings when they’re in this kind of state, but if she knows, if she can tell that you’re here…I just hope it will make a difference.”

I nod reflexively in agreement, but then it dawns on me. “But…are you sure she wants me here? Do you even want me here?” I ask. I assume they’re back together. It would make sense, after all. Why else would Shae be here? I want to be here for Nicole, but I don’t want to step on any toes or make for an awkward situation for her to wake up to. 

“I’m sure she does,” Shae assures me. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you’re worried about. Look, it’s not my place to tell you how I think she feels. But, if- when,” she corrects herself, “she wakes up, you might want to talk to her about some things.”

I nod, chewing the inside of my cheek. I really could care less about where Nicole and I stand. It’s the least of my worries right now, and as long as Shae doesn’t mind me being here and doesn’t think Nicole will mind, then I’m going to put it all in the back of my mind. Just because we are broken up doesn’t mean I don’t care about her, that I can’t want to be there for her, that I don’t want her to wake up and be okay and be Nicole. 

“Well, since you’re here, I’m going to go crash, if that’s okay with you. The nurses know to page me if anything happens.” I give her a confused look. “Oh, I uh, work here now,” she says. I can see that whatever energy she had mustered to stay awake this long is fading fast, now that she knows she won’t be leaving Nicole alone. 

“Okay,” I say. “Get some rest. We’ll be okay.”

Shae leaves the room and then there I am, alone with Nicole. The only sounds in the room are that of the machine breathing for her and the heart monitor, which have quickly become white noise in the background to me. I sit down in the chair next to the head of her bed and take a deep, shaky breath. I reach out a hand, tentatively, and smooth her hair back off of her forehead. I’m not sure if I should be touching her - would she want that? Am I violating her privacy, in some way? But it feels right, and if she’s at all aware of what’s going on around her, I want her to know that I’m here and I care for her. 

I continue to stroke her hair, much like I used to do when we would lay on the couch binging some Netflix series with her head in my lap. “Hi,” I say softly, realizing I haven’t spoken to her. “It’s….me, Waverly,” I say. I laugh nervously at myself. “I…I’m sorry if you don’t want me to be here right now. I just couldn’t stay away knowing that -“

“Well that was awkward, right?” Wynonna bursts into the room, followed by Doc, and I nearly fall out of my chair. I snatch my hand away from Nicole quickly. “How’s it going, kiddo?” She asks. “Oh my God, Waverly, why don’t you have your shirt on!” She suddenly exclaims. 

“Wynonna!” I chastise, giving her a look like ARE YOU CRAZY? As I look around to see if anyone heard that. 

“Sorry,” Wynonna says. “I just thought maybe that would wake her up. You know, like in the movies. Not even an extra thump on the monitor,” she says with a sigh. “I’m sorry, baby girl. She’s gonna pull through this. Can we do anything for you?” She says, yawning loudly. I look over at Doc, who’s leaning against the door way staring into space. 

“No, no,” I tell her. “Just go home and get some sleep. Shae is here somewhere, just sleeping. I’ll be fine here.”

“Okay,” she says, not taking any more convincing. “We’ll be back later today. Call me if you need anything.” I nod. “Oh, and Waves?” She says. 

“Yeah?”  


“It’s good to see you. To have you here again.” I smile at her and she’s out the door before I can say anything in response. 

I return my attention back to Nicole. I could never have forgotten what she looks like, but it’s something else to actually be with her again after so long apart. To be close, to be able to actually look at her instead of constantly averting my gaze and feeling weird and awkward and angry. I feel my eyes watering up and then tears rolling down my face as I stare at her pale, expressionless face. What if I never see her eyes light up again? Never see the dimples on her cheeks appear when she smiles? These are all things I’ve thought before, when we broke up, but the weight of them seems much more significant as she lays on what could be her death bed. 

I don’t know how long I sit there, staring, crying, stroking Nicole’s hair and face again, the thumb of my other hand working small circles over the back of her wrist. Eventually, I settle into my chair more and lean back. It’s large enough that I can pull my legs up onto it and kind of slump over, using my shoulder as a pillow with my arm extended so I can keep my hand wrapped around Nicole’s forearm. I don’t know if I can stay awake, but I know I absolutely cannot and will not let go of her. If I’m going to rest my eyes, I need that contact so I know she’s still here with me. 

I brush the tips of my fingers on her arm as I lay/sit in the chair, my eyes close. If she were awake, she’d probably yell at me to stop tickling her, but she isn’t, so she doesn’t. After several moments, I doze off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, but it felt necessary to the story and leading up to the rest of this fic. Let me know what you think!
> 
> I'll release again this weekend if this gets some loving :)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, give kudos, etc. You really, truly are driving this fic forward. I appreciate each and every one of you.


	7. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I look down at her hand, which is covering mine, and then back to her face. She’s here, and I’m alive, and maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went through really minimal editing, so I'm sorry if there are more errors than usual. I'm hitting the mountains all weekend and wanted to get something out before we leave. 
> 
> Happy reading!

It’s always felt weird to me to wake up and not remember having fallen asleep. However, I can say for sure that this experience is much more unnerving than simply passing out while watching Netflix in the middle of the night. 

The first thing I know is that I’m choking. There’s something in my throat and before the rest of my body fully wakes up, before my mind fully wakes up, I just know I’m choking and desperately trying to clear my air way. I hear noise around me, but I’m still too foggy to know what’s going on. But I definitely notice when the obstruction in my throat is removed. I drag in a deep breath and then immediately start coughing, which for some reason is extremely painful. 

“She’s okay - she started to try to breathe over the tube,” I hear a familiar voice say, sounding far away. Shae. It takes me a moment to pinpoint the voice, but it’s Shae. “It’s good. It means she can breathe on her own now. She might wake up soon…” she continues, sounding less enthusiastic at the end. 

I am awake, I want to say, but my body still isn’t cooperating. I try to open my eyes, my mouth, to move anything, but I can’t. So I sit there in this weird in-between, feeling far away and unable to pinpoint my surroundings. Unable to tell what exactly is going on, but too tired to put much effort into figuring it out. 

The in-between isn’t all that bad, really. I kind of like it. It’s like a combination of being asleep and being drunk, which are two of my favorite states to be in as of late. 

Although I’m not fully aware of my surroundings, I can still feel when the room starts to clear out; when the energy of its inhabitants dissipates and I feel like I might be alone here. The in-between is less fun when I think about how I might be left here forever, alone, never fully able to get back to the surface of reality. But there’s nothing I can do. 

I fall asleep again, although I’m not sure how I can fall asleep when I was never really awake. But I did, and now I’m waking up again, this time without the thing in my throat, without the panic and choking and coughing. My muscles still don’t want to cooperate, keeping me here in the in-between even longer. 

Eventually, though, I manage a twitch in one of my fingers. At least, I think it actually moved - I’m not sure. I try the same with my feet, but they aren’t ready to cooperate yet. So I try to move my fingers again, and manage another small movement. 

“N…Nicole?”

That voice. That voice is distinguishable to me even here, in the in-between. And it’s just the push I need, providing me with the motivation to wrench my eyes open so I can ascertain that I heard who I thought I heard. 

My lids flutter open weakly, barely, and my vision turns out to be so blurry that it doesn’t really matter, anyways. I itch to rub my eyes, to try and clear them, but my arms are still too heavy and not ready for that much movement yet. 

I try to speak, but like the rest of my body, my mouth revolts against me and I only manage a weird mumbling made even more incoherent by the fact that my lips never actually part. 

I give up, then, for a while. Clearly trying to rush things just wasn’t going to work - my body wasn’t having it. So I lay there, becoming more and more conscious and aware mentally while I wait for my body to catch up. And I wait anxiously, because I swear to God I heard Waverly Earp next to me, saying my name. Maybe it was one of those hallucinations people get when they’re on the brink of death, a type of self preservation, but I don’t care. I want to, need to, find out. If it’s just self preservation, it sure as hell is going to work. 

Mercifully, I don’t have to wait for very long. A groan dredges up from somewhere deep in my chest of its own accord, without my permission, my body expressing its grievances with the highly unusual and unexpected trauma it’s been through. That and having to leave the in-between. And then it’s like I’m alive again, a zombie reanimated. 

My eyes open and I squint against the light, trying to swallow but finding my throat to be sore and dryer than it has ever been. Instinctively I try to sit up, but that’s a definite no go - not only can I not even find the strength to get my elbows under me, but the second I tense the muscles of my abdomen a rip of pain surges through me, almost enough to send me straight back into unconsciousness. 

Instead, having given up on any sort of larger movement, I turn my head. 

And there she is. 

Waverly. 

She’s looking at me with her jaw slack, like she wasn’t expecting me to wake up and actually have to deal with me. We stare at each other for several beeps of my heart on the monitor. “Hi,” I finally say. Or, try to say, because all that comes out is a croak. 

“Water,” Waverly says, jumping up. Obviously relieved to have something to do, a purpose, something else to focus on. She walks over to the corner of the room where there is a water cooler and fills a small plastic cup with water. She walks back over to me. “I’m not sure if you’re really supposed to have this,” she says, seconds before she was about to bring the cup to my lips, for my hands didn’t want to obey me and rise to take the cup. “I…I should go get the doctor. And Shae.” 

Oh, right. If she’s here, then she’s been interacting with Shae. That’s a little awkward, but the least of my worries. I try to meet her eyes, but she purposely avoids them and then places the cup down on the table next to my bed, and scurries out of the room. 

She returns less than a minute later with a nurse and Shae. “..wasn’t sure if she should have anything,” she is saying, nodding towards the cup of water sitting tantalizingly close to my face. 

Shae puts a hand on Waverly’s shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly as she walks past her and over to my bed side. That’s definitely…weird. But again, bigger fish to fry. “Good thinking,” she says, speaking to Waverly as she picks up the cup and, God bless, raises it to my lips. She uses her other hand to smooth hair away from my forehead. “But she can have a little water, for now.” 

Waverly stands awkwardly between the end of my bed and the door, looking like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. I can’t help but stare at her, despite Shae worrying over me by my bedside at the moment. Waverly takes a few steps closer and leans against the end of my bed, and I’m grateful to have her closer. My body feels drained and empty and not at all like my own, but somehow her presence helps me feel whole. 

“Wh….what happened? I say, testing out my voice now that I’ve had some water. It’s raspy and cracks, but it will do. I search my mind, trying to fill in the giant blank space. The last thing I remember is bickering with Shae in the car for sport as we drove home. That doesn’t explain how I ended up in a hospital bed or why Waverly is here. 

“You were shot,” Shae says. I finally force my gaze away from Waverly so I can pay attention to Shae as she speaks. The nurse steps in and fidgets with my IV and when she steps away, Shae continues. “You gave us quite a scare,” she says, smiling and shaking her head slightly. “You had surgery and you’ve been asleep for almost two days now. But it looks like you’re coming out of the woods now,” she tells me. “But…” she continues, now looking down at her feet before she looks back to me. 

My eyes flit to Waverly, who is also looking anywhere but at me. “But what?” I rasp, looking back at Shae, a sense of panic setting in. She said I’m out of the woods, and I’m awake and breathing, so what could have them both looking like they have bad news to break?

“Nicole,” Shae says, and I hear the shift in her voice - it’s her doctor voice, her professional voice. She’s separating herself from the situation, and I instinctively brace myself. “Can you feel your legs? Can you move your feet?”

It’s an odd question. Of course I can. I mean, I couldn’t earlier but I couldn’t move the rest of my body, either. Surely my legs have woken up by now. 

But I try. And I try again. And I keep trying, both amazed and dismayed by the fact that no matter what I do, my toes won’t budge an inch, nor will my knees, and then suddenly not being able to feel my legs makes it so that their absence is the only thing I can feel. It’s surreal. The monitor beeps faster, giving me away as my heart rate speeds up. My chest feels tight and I can feel the tell tale oncoming of a panic attack. 

“What happened to my legs?” I ask, my voice hardly audible. Shae and Waverly shoot each other a look and I realize that they already knew I wouldn’t be able to move them. “Just tell me,” I say, my voice hitching. 

“A fragment of the bullet hit your spine,” Shae tells me. “They were going to try to remove it during surgery, but you’d lost too much blood and couldn’t stay under any longer or endure any more major surgery. They already had to repair your lung and liver and the soft tissue damage was extensive…” 

I look to Waverly then. I don’t really know why. It sucks, honestly, to have her here and to be hit with earth shattering news that almost overshadows her presence. It sucks to not be able to revel in the fact that she came here for me - at least, I assume she did. But in an unimaginable turn of events, our reunion isn’t sweet or bittersweet or angry or anything at all. It’s at the back of my mind. 

“Can they fix it?” I ask, now looking back at Shae. 

She looks to Waverly, and I still find it so unnatural to see them communicating silently with each other, like they do it all the time. “They…they might be able to,” Shae says. “But the surgeon wouldn’t operate until you woke up to make the decision.” She explains. 

“Okay, well I want them to-“

“Hold on,” she warns. She places her hand on my shin. My eyes fall on her hand, marveling at the fact that I can’t feel it, before she realizes her mistake and yanks it away. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Nicole, the way the fragment is lodged and where it’s located, if they operate it could…make things worse. You could be paralyzed permanently, become quadriplegic, or you could even die. Right now, the neurologist thinks that with time one the fragment settles and the swelling goes down, you might regain some feeling and movement. You need to think about it.” She finishes. 

I wait two heartbeats. “I want the surgery,” I say easily. 

She breathes out between her lips heavily, like she’s trying to blow a stray hair off of her nose. But then she nods, like she was expecting that answer. She knows me well enough that she should have been. “Okay,” she says with a sigh. “If that’s what you want. You sure you don’t want to think about it? You don’t have to rush into it. You’re stable for now.”

Waverly shifts her weight at the foot of my bed, drawing my attention back to her unintentionally. 

“I want the surgery. As soon as possible. I’m not going to sit around and wait for a miracle,” I tell her, but as I look at Waverly I realize the irony in my words. It’s a miracle, really, that she is here. That she came here for me. I desperately want to talk to her. I know I can’t make things right between us, that I’ve done too much damage. But I can at least try to smooth things over so we can potentially, one day, be friends. Or maybe at least make it so that we can look back on our time together fondly instead of bitterly. 

“You know me,” I say, glancing back up at Shae before looking at Waverly as well. “I’ve been awake for all of 5 minutes and I’m already going stir crazy. I want the surgery, and we’ll go from there.”

Shae looks at me with her arms crossed in front of her, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m bluffing or if I’m absolutely sure. She should know that I don’t bluff. And she does. “Alright,” she says, sighing again. “I think it’s a good choice,” she adds in, solely to try and be supportive. I know she doesn’t think it’s a good choice. 

She reaches out and squeezes my hand that doesn’t have multiple tubes coming out of it for my IVs. “I’m going to go talk to the surgeon and see when she is available, and the general surgeon who did your first surgeries will need to clear you for it as well.”

“Thanks,” I say, squeezing her hand back weakly. “See, it paid off to have you stick around. I’m like a VIP here, and you just do all the talking for me.” 

“Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it,” she says, shaking her head and showing me a real smile for the first time since she walked into the room several minutes ago. “I’ll be back in a little while. Neurosurgeons can be hard to track down. The good ones, at least. You’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Promise I won’t die while you’re gone.” 

She gives me a scornful look at my tasteless joke, but I see the grin tugging at the corner o her mouth. “Hold you to it,” she says. 

And then, much to Waverly’s horror, I’m sure, she exits the room. Leaving us alone together for the first time in months, under the most stressful, inconvenient, awkward conditions possible. 

Waverly’s never been much for awkward, though, which is lucky for us because I definitely am. She walks over to the side of my bed and sits down in the chair. My eyes track her the entire time, as if she’s an apparition that might evaporate at any second. 

“Hi,” she says, giving me a smile. It’s bright and it’s brilliant and it’s Waverly, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. 

“Hi,” I offer back, trying to sit up a bit but failing. 

“Here,” she says, standing up and pulling at the pillows I’m leaning back against. 

“You don’t have to -“

“Lean forward a bit, if you can?” She instructs me, and I oblige. She rearranges the pillows so they are stacked a bit higher and support my upper back more, so I’m more sitting up and less reclined. 

“Thanks,” I say, still watching her like I’m in a trance. I’m not entirely convinced I’m really awake, that this is real, but if it’s a dream, I’ll still take what I can get. 

She sits back down in the chair. “Do you want any more water?” She asks me. 

“No, I’m okay,” I tell her. “I could really go for a milkshake, though.” I feel hesitant as I make a joke, like I’m going to scare her away if I talk too much. 

“Yeah, well, Shae barely let me give you water, so I don’t think that one’s gonna fly,” she says, holding out her hands and frowning as if to say Sorry. 

We fall into a silence that is somehow both comfortable and uncomfortable. I don’t usually feel the need to talk, to fill in silence, but I’m on edge around Waverly. 

“How long have you been here?” I ask, treading lightly, trying to feel out whether or not she’ll be receptive to conversation that is a little more meaningful or if we’re staying strictly in small talk territory. 

“Um, I don’t know really,” she says, pressing the power button on her phone to look at the date and time. “Like, 16 hours I think,” she says, doing some quick math in her head. 

“Did Dolls call you?” I ask. Then it registers how long she has been here, and my eyes widen in alarm. “16 hours? Have you slept? Eaten?”

“Wyonnona called me,” she answers, and I nod. “And yeah, I’ve slept a lot actually. You weren’t the best host so it was easy to doze off. And Shae brought me whatever vegan stuff she could scrape up in the cafeteria a few hours ago, which was basically tater tots and apple juice,” she says, rolling her eyes. I can tell she’s thankful for the food, just annoyed at the typical lack of options. 

I nod thoughtfully as I listen to her, and we fall back into a moment of silence. 

“You…look, Waves- Waverly,” I say, cringing slightly as I stumble over my words. “I…I know it must be hard, to be here, and hospitals suck, and I’m not dying anymore, and I just..I don’t want you to feel obligated to be here…”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize how she’ll interpret them. But it’s too late.

“Do you want me to leave?” She asks, shifting infinitesimally away from me. The extra space between us makes me feel colder. “I’m sorry, I- I know we didn’t exactly end on the best terms, and we haven’t talked in so long, I just…I just felt like I should be here,” she says. Waverly had looked tentative before when talking to me, but now she just looks defeated. 

“No!” I answer quickly. So embarrassingly quickly that my cheeks instantly blush red. “That’s not what I meant. I want you.” I reassure her. “To be here,” I add quickly, but I feel the warmth in my cheeks growing. 

I hear a tapping on the door frame and it’s enough distraction to save me from choking on my paralyzed foot as I shove it into my mouth. We both look over, eyes landing on a nurse who smiles and walks into the room. 

“Dr. Haluch sent me,” she says. I turn my head to Waverly and mouth _Shae_ , not sure if she knows her last name, and she nods. “She got called into the ER but she wanted me to relay to you that Dr. Bellenheim, the neurosurgeon, will be able to fit you in for surgery this afternoon. Probably around 2pm, depending on how her morning goes,” she continues. 

I take in the information and nod as the realization that I’m really going to have this surgery settles heavily in my stomach. I swallow. “Thank you,” I tell her, and she smiles and nods and then leaves us to go on the rest of her rounds. 

The air in the room has changed now, as my unexpected anxiety over my second surgery overshadows the conversation we had been having only a moment ago. I feel nervous and stressed and, although I’d never admit it, I’m second guessing my rash decision to just jump right into the surgery. It was my gut instinct and I’d never go back on it, but truth be told, I’m scared. 

And Waverly knows it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says. She reaches for my hand but as soon as she makes contact she loses her courage and just gives it a pat and retracts her hand, putting it back in her lap. I watch as it leaves, the skin that she touched prickling pleasantly. 

My body is reacting negatively to my stress, my heart rate and blood pressure rising. I’m too weak for the anxiety attack I’m about to have, and I feel my eyes starting to droop. 

“I - I don’t want to fall asleep. I just woke up,” I say, both to myself and to Waverly. 

I look at Waverly through hooded eyes as she gives me a sad smile. Her hand returns to mine and this time she hooks her fingers around my palm, squeezing firmly. “Shh,” she coos. “It’s okay. Go to sleep, you need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

I still fight my drooping eyes, but it’s a battle I’m losing quickly. I glance at the clock on the wall through my eyelashes and see that I have several hours until 2pm, so I can only hope I’ll wake up in time to talk to Waverly more. To really talk to her. To tell her what I need her to know before I might never have the chance to tell her. 

I look down at her hand, which is covering mine, and then back to her face. She’s here, and I’m alive, and maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay. 

My eyes finally close, and I drift back to sleep. 


	8. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know,” she says sadly. Finally, she looks up and meets my eyes. They are warm and sad and watery and if I don’t look away quickly I very well could drown in them. We are both quiet for several breaths, adjusting to the new reality she just created for us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, another randomly timed upload because it's going to be nice out this weekend again and I won't be at the computer! Global warming is the absolute worst and I take a lot of steps in my life to try and minimize it....but it also kind of isn't.

Nicole had only been awake for a few minutes, really. Like, 20 minutes, tops. But somehow those 20 minutes had left me feeling more unhinged than the 16 hours I spent by her bedside while she was asleep, or in a coma, or whatever exactly she was doing. 

It was easy to pretend I was okay with being here, that it wasn’t going to make me unravel, while she was asleep. And I know that my presence here is not of the utmost importance. Nothing is about me or my feelings; it’s about Nicole, and making sure she stays alive and that she hopefully regains feeling in and use of her legs. 

But it’s hard. It’s overwhelming. And when she falls back asleep clutching my hand, I’m left alone with my thoughts again. Before, it hadn’t really felt like I was here with Nicole. She had seemed so far away. But now, it feels real, and I don’t know how I feel about it. 

Or I should say, I know how I feel about it, and I know those feelings will destroy me and undo all of the work I’ve done to restart my life and move on. 

Wynonna walks in, then, looking much more rested than she had the last time I saw her. She’s holding my favorite drink, a Matcha Green Tea Latte, and a white paper baggie that I can only hope contains my favorite muffin as well. 

“Sup, sis,” she says. I snap my free index finger to my mouth to quiet her, jerking my eyes to Nicole, who is sleeping soundly. “What’s the deal?” She asks, and I realize that she doesn’t know that Nicole woke up. 

“She woke up,” I say quietly, gingerly removing my hand from hers so I can walk away from the bed, and step out into the hallway with Wynonna and the inevitable noise and chaos she would bring with her. I also snatch my drink and the bag out of her hands, peaking into the white paper and seeing the top of a cranberry chocolate chunk muffin, the only vegan option at the local bakery but also the best muffin, in my opinion. 

“Ugh,” I groan at the sight of it, having been a few months now since I had my favorite pastry. My latte and muffin had been a daily ritual before. “You’re the best,” I tell Wynonna, and we head towards the waiting room. 

After we sit, I sip my latte and start picking at my muffin. “So,” Wynonna starts. “She woke up. How was that?” 

“Can’t we talk about school or San Diego or something?” I ask quietly, putting a small piece of muffin in my mouth and chewing it several more times than necessary. 

“Waves, you flew here in the middle of the night on 2 hour’s notice and have been glued to her bedside for the past, like, 2 days. And then she wakes up and you want to talk about school?” Wynonna says, calling me out without hesitation. 

I sigh. “I…I don’t know,” I finally say, after waiting a few minutes to try and sort out my thoughts. “I just…it felt right to be here, while she was asleep. But then she woke up and it was so…weird,” I say with a shrug. 

“It was weird,” she mimics, giving me a look as she shakes her head. 

“I mean, I don’t know, Wynonna. What am I doing here? She has Shae. Why the _hell_ did I uproot my life like that and just jump on a plane? My professors are going to give me hell,” I groan, bringing my fist to my forehead and thumping my thumb against it twice as I think about all of the emails I need to send. 

“Do you want me to answer that or was it rhetorical?” She asks me, still giving me that look like I’ve gone a little crazy. 

I stare at her blankly while I chew, now half way through my muffin. “Wow,” she says, shaking her head. “For someone so smart, you can be really dumb sometimes, Earp.” 

I narrow my eyes at her, and she raises her hands defensively. “Hey, I bought you that latte and I can take it back,” she says, trying to take it from me. 

“Over my dead body,” I tell her, holding it close to my chest. Bickering with her feels good, normal. 

Of course, she has to ruin it. “You love her, stupid. With all of your big gay dopey heart.”

I have to actually remind myself to close my mouth around the bite of muffin I just took when Wynonna speaks, and I end up accidentally inhaling a crumb and break out into a fit of coughing. It’s not that I hadn’t thought of it or that I don’t think Wynonna is right; it’s just that after 8 months of telling myself I don’t love Nicole anymore, of easing myself into this delusion that I’m fine and moving on, it’s basically like she just grabbed me by my throat and jerked me back to reality. 

A reality that I can’t afford to let myself back into. 

“I’d rather just say I have self sabotaging tendencies,” I tell her, finally swallowing my last bite of muffin. “It doesn’t matter, anyways. What we had is gone and she’s doing fine here and I’m doing fine out in San Diego,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. Yet I’m unable to meet Wynonna’s eyes, for fear that she’ll call me out on my bullshit. “I just wanted to make sure she’s okay. And I’ll stay until she’s awake from her second surgery and out of the woods but I really need to get back to school.” 

“School schmool,” Wynonna mocks with a smile. “Look, baby girl, I love you and I’m always on your side. If you want to keep your head buried in the sand and pretend you don’t still have feelings for her, then do that. All I’m saying is to think about it.” She’s being uncharacteristically kind and wise, and it kind of makes me uncomfortable. “Oh, and Shae? She’s here because when you left Nicole went off her rocker. So you might want to reconsider just how fine she really is.”

I listen as my sister speaks. “Who are you and what have you done with Wynonna?” I ask her with a half hearted smile, shaking my head. That Nicole had a negative reaction to my leaving is news to me; when I had told her I was leaving, she had barely any reaction. Besides that one drunken night at Shorty’s in the bathroom, she’d barely showed me any emotion at all for the past 8 months. There had been next to no inkling that she was struggling with our break up at all. After all, she was the one who had initiated the breakup. Combined with her stoic attitude, what else was I supposed to think, other than she was fine?

But I should have known. I should have known her well enough to know that it was an act, a facade, and while that had crossed my mind, I had thought I was just being self absorbed and selfish hoping that she was secretly pining for me. 

Dolls walks briskly into the waiting room, then, and offers me a nod in greeting. I can tell from his body language and expression that he’s in work mode, and his eyes are trained on Wynonna, who I’m assuming is supposed to be working. “Boss man found me, sis, gotta jet,” she says, quickly standing and joining Dolls. They exit the waiting room and then I’m alone with my latte. I sit there for a few more minutes, trying not to think about all of the emotions and considerations Wynonna just stirred up in my brain. While she was being weirdly insightful, her ability to cause chaos and then just walk away from the destruction she caused has not escaped her. 

I watch the news playing on the TV in the corner for a few minutes before I decide I should go back to Nicole’s room. I’ve been away for around a half hour now and even though I shouldn’t really, I’d feel bad if she woke up and no one was in her room with her. 

Even though I was going back to the room so I could be there when she wakes up, I wasn’t expecting her to be blinking at me as soon as I rounded the corner into her room. I stop in my tracks at the door, unsettled. 

“Oh, hi. You’re up,” I say, taking a breath as I step further into the room. I look at the monitors surrounding her as if I understand what they mean before I walk closer to the bed. 

“Yeah,” she responds simply. I move to sit in the chair next to her bed, but she interjects. “Sorry, do you mind getting me some water?” She asks, her voice sounding hoarse as she struggles to reposition herself in bed. 

“Sure, but if you’re not supposed to have this, Wynonna gave you it,” I tell her with a wink. I grab her a cup of water and I’m pleasantly surprised when she takes it and is able to drink it by herself. She seems to be recovering well and getting stronger. 

We fall into an awkward silence, then, the uncomfortable nature of it heightened by the fact that before, we never had these weird, tense moments. Even early on, before we were together, whenever we were with each other everything came easily, went smoothly. Now, sitting inches from each other, I’ve never felt so far away from Nicole. 

Moments tick by, made unbearably long by my desire to fill the silence but the inability to force any of the words on the tip of my tongue into existence. 

_It’ll be okay._

_Can I do anything for you?_

_I miss you._

_I still love you…_

None of them seem right, even though they all are what I’m thinking as my gaze sneaks back over to the perfect porcelain skin of Nicole’s face. Her eyes flick over to mine and I allow myselfto get lost in their depths to the count of three and then I drag in a deep breath and look away, blowing it out between my lips. 

“Waverly,” she says. Her tone is different and something about it makes me not want to look at her. Instinctively I know that whatever she is about to say is going to change things, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to make that leap yet. Suddenly, the awkward silence and tension seems a lot more comfortable, homey. 

Almost of their own will, my eyes look over to meet hers. My heart stutters in my chest because what I see, who I see, is Nicole. My Nicole. Not the hardened exterior she’s been presenting me with for the past 8 months, not the emotionless eyes devoid of any love or kindness. It’s Nicole, my Nicole, and her eyes are telling me everything I need to know before her lips even part again. 

“Waverly,” she repeats, but this time she’s going somewhere with it. “I need…I need to talk to you. I know you have no reason to be here, no reason to listen to me after what I’ve done to you. To us,” she says, swallowing. “But I… I can’t go in there, into surgery, without being honest with you. I-“

“No,” I interrupt suddenly, practically leaping out of my chair. “You can’t do this. You can’t tell me these things because you’re scared something might go wrong.” How can I take anything she says to heart, knowing the fact that has gone unsaid between us that she might not be alive in a few hours. 

“Wave, this doesn’t have anything to do with my surgery,” she says. “It does have to do with the fact that I almost died, but none of that is influencing how I feel. It’s only finally making me admit it. I’ve been wanting to say this since nearly the second I broke up with you,” she says. I’m standing there now, by her bedside, frozen in place. My heart beats loudly in my ears. “I was wrong.” She says. That nearly undoes me, because it confirms for me where this conversation is going. I can already feel my eyes welling up, and I clench my jaw. I won’t cry. I won’t. “It was a mistake, to break up with you. I thought it was the right thing, I really did. I thought I was protecting you. But Waverly, I’m nothing without you. My life has no meaning. I’ve gone every single day of the last 8 months missing you so bad I can hardly stand it. When I was shot, when everything was fading, I had this horrible sinking feeling in my gut that I made such a huge mistake and I would never be able to make it right.”

I sit back down in the chair as if I’m in a trance, chewing my lip as I try to digest the words she’s feeding me. She pauses briefly, waiting for me to meet her gaze, and then she says it. “I love you, Waverly. I always have, and I always will. With everything in me, with every single breath I take, every beat of my heart, I love you.” 

The words threaten to rip my tattered heart straight in half. I feel a tear escape, sliding down my cheek before I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I know it’s my turn to speak, but what am I supposed to say?

“Shit, Nicole,” I finally say, running my hands through my hair as I stand again. I’m agitated and I cannot sit still, so I start to pace. “I…what am I supposed to do with that?” I ask her, honestly hoping for an answer. 

“I don’t know,” she says quietly, and the defeat in her voice is almost equally as heartbreaking. When I look at her, laying in the hospital bed battered and injured and weak, and hear the moroseness of her voice, it’s almost surreal. Nicole has been nothing but a brick wall for so long now that I almost can’t see her as the sensitive, innocent woman she was when we were together anymore. That side of her has been dead to me for quite some time now. 

“I moved away, Nicole. Even if…even if this changed anything, I mean…I live in freaking San Diego!” I say. The anger I feel growing inside of me surprises me; it isn’t how I expected to feel, isn’t what I imagined when I would day dream about Nicole confessing her undying love to me and begging for me back. “I started school, and I have a job, and I have half a cat,” I say. I also have a Chelsea, but I leave that part out. 

“I know,” she says sadly. Finally, she looks up and meets my eyes. They are warm and sad and watery and if I don’t look away quickly I very well could drown in them. We are both quiet for several breaths, adjusting to the new reality she just created for us. 

“I don’t…I don’t expect you to do anything. To forgive me. I just couldn’t go on pretending I’m okay, that I didn’t make a colossal mistake by leaving you. Near death experiences really do help you get your priorities straight,” she says with a half hearted laugh. She winces, probably having upset her freshly-ripped-open insides with the movement. 

“If you want to go, Waverly, go. I’m okay. No matter the outcome of my surgery, I’ll be okay. I’m not going to self implode. I know you have a new life and that I’m not part of it, and that’s a bed I just have to lie in because I made it for myself.” Our eyes are locked onto each other and I hear the sincerity dripping from her words. My chest is as tight as my throat as I listen to her, my jaw clenched in an effort to hold back the tears threatening to spill out of my eyes. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay. Don’t take that the wrong way - I’m so amazed and thankful that you came here,” she says. “I never deserved you,” she says, and now she’s the one with tears spilling onto her cheeks. 

I know I should speak, that I should say something, but I’m scared that my mouth will betray me and say something I’m not ready to say. Like, for example, _I love you and I never stopped and I would do anything to be yours again._ But I can’t say that, because even though it might be how I feel, I can’t let her back in so quickly. I can’t forget how badly she hurt me or set myself up for heartbreak and betrayal all over again. 

“Look,” she says, startling me from my thoughts. “Why don’t you go to the Homestead and get some rest. Relax. Be with your family. There’s still a few hours until my surgery and I’m probably just going to sleep, anyways,” she tells me. “Later, when I wake up, if you want to, we can talk more. Just…think about it and know that I meant everything I just said to you.” She says, biting her lip. “Whatever you decide, I’ll accept it. If you don’t want to come back later, you don’t even have to. The ball is in your court.”

The ball is in my court.

If only it was that simple. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Again, thanks to everyone who is following along with this! Your continued support makes it all possible.


	9. Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hesitate, but then I squeeze her fingers gently, 3 times. It’s something we used to do when we were together - it means I love you. Waverly doesn’t do it back, but when I look into her eyes I can see it written there, and that’s all I need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extra long wait, life can be crazy! Thanks for the patience.

This time when I wake up and immediately start choking, I know that there is a tube in my throat and I know that someone will remove it shortly. So I try to take as few breaths as I can while I struggle to breathe over the machine, until someone finally removes it. I’m still unable to wake myself up completely, lingering once again in the in-between, however, this time it isn’t as appealing and I’m eager to wake up fully. Before I had no idea what was going on, but this time I’m more aware. I have a few reasons to want to wake up, and while the fact that Waverly Earp might be there waiting for me again is one of them, I’m more anxious to find out if my legs work. 

There’s no way for me to know how long I stay there, half conscious, but eventually I come to a groggy awakening. I groan at the throbbing pain in my head and the soreness of my throat and the aching of my body while my eyes flutter open weakly, my pupils contracting painfully from the harsh florescent lighting. 

“Hey, you,” a voice says beside me. It takes me a moment to ascertain who it is, wracking my brain to match the voice to a name. Shae. 

“Hey,” I croak, my eyes finally clearing up. Without having to ask, she brings me a cup of water and crushed ice. I sip at it gratefully, sighing as it soothes my throat. “You’re getting good at this,” I remark with half a smile. 

“Unfortunately I am,” she muses, brushing hair off of my forehead as she shakes her head. 

With some water in me and now almost fully awake, the elephant in the room seems to be getting larger by the second. “So…how was the surgery?” I ask her. I glance at the clock which, to my alarm, reads 3:45am. More than 12 hours since I went under for surgery a little after 2pm. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” She asks, throwing her gaze towards my legs. She’s trying to keep a straight face but I see a faint twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth and a light in her eyes. It fills me with hope that I don’t want to have, but it nestles it’s way in.

I swallow thickly and turn my attention to my feet. I stare at them and stare and try not to give away the fact that I’m trying desperately to move them, to make my big toe wiggle, but nothing happens. I shoot a look at Shae, who looks like she’s watching a toddler try to take their first steps. I groan in frustration and slump back against the bed. 

“Keep trying, Nic,” she says softly, encouraging me. “You had a pain and tickle response less than an hour ago.” Her brows furrow a bit and I can tell she’s thinking that maybe something went wrong, but it’s still reassuring to hear that my reflexes had returned. 

I take a deep breath and refocus my attention, this time solely on my toes. It’s comical, really, how much concentration it takes. Well, it would be comical, if this wasn’t such a life changing thing. 

And then it happens. My toes twitches. I let out a manic bark of a laugh and look up at Shae with wide, ecstatic eyes, my heart rate increasing. I hadn’t allowed myself to think that I really would regain feeling or use of my legs - it was safer to expect the worst. But my toe twitched, and then I try the other, and it obeys as well. My leg’s still feel weak and heavy, but hey, they feel weak and heavy, and they won’t move, but I’ll still take it. 

One by one I’m able to move all of my toes, even if it’s just a twitch. Shae calls in the neurosurgeon, who looks exhausted but seems genuinely excited for me. 

“Your surgery took a little longer than expected,” she tells me. “About 9 and a half hours. I’ll tell you one thing, you’re tough as hell. Not many people could go through surgery like that so soon after your first one. You did great and we had good results. There will be inflammation and likely scar tissue build up, but I believe with time you’ll regain most of, if not all of, your function and mobility.” She smiles, clamping a hand down around my forearm gently. “I’ll want to see you again tomorrow and then I’ll hand you off to a resident. And you’ll be allowed to start physical therapy soon, but we need to make sure things settle before we push too hard. Got it?”

I nod, taking in everything she tells me. “So what can I do now?” I ask her. 

“Now, you rest. Your body has been through a lot and you need to take it easy and be careful, for now. Like I said, I’ll see you again tomorrow - well, today, but later - and we will see how you’re feeling. You can wiggle your toes all you want, but nothing crazy, alright?” I nod. 

“Thanks so much, Trish,” Shae says before the surgeon leaves the room.

“So,” Shae says. “How about that?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I can’t even believe it,” I say, grinning from ear to ear. “I mean, I wasn’t awake all that long to come to terms with not being able to feel my legs or anything, but I just didn’t expect the surgery to actually work, you know? Especially with my luck,” I say. 

“You have pretty good luck, I think,” Shae counters. I give her an incredulous look. 

“Um, yeah, tell the person who got shot point blank by a sawed-off shotgun they have good luck, sure,” I say sarcastically. 

“Well, sure, that was bad luck. But you lived, and you’re going to be okay, and now you have a chance to talk to Waverly. I’d call that a stroke of luck.”

I bite the inside of my lip at that. The fact that Waverly wasn’t here when I woke up wasn’t really troubling; I mean, it’s 4am. Without realizing it, though, I had been hoping she’d be here. We left off on a weird note earlier with a lot hanging in the balance and I wouldn’t blame her one bit if she never comes back at all. I just hope I have the chance to try and make things right. 

“She came back, if that’s what you just got all weird and broody about,” Shae says, interrupting me from my thoughts. “Around 8pm, but I told her your surgery was taking longer than expected and you would need some time to recover and wake up afterwards. She said she’d come back in the morning,” she finishes, smirking at me. 

“Oh…okay,” I respond dumbly. So she did come back, and she is coming back. I start chewing my lip again, already trying to figure out what I can say to express how I feel, how sorry I am, how mixed up everything got. But I know I’ll be doing a lot of listening, too. 

“How has that been going?” Shae asks. I know she’s smug, that she knows I’m trying to mend things and that without her I probably wouldn’t have come to the conclusion that I was wrong, that I still love Waverly, that I needed to swallow my pride and admit it to her. Without Shae, who knows where I’d be. 

“Its…going,” I tell her with a sigh. “I told her how I feel. That I’m a giant dumbass and I made a huge mistake and that I love her.” 

She nods approvingly. “And?”

“And she seemed…mad. She was crying and I was crying and I told her to take some time and space and that we can talk again later, if she wants. That was before my surgery,” I tell her. 

Shae continues to nod as she listens, and pats my hand. “Good. I’m proud of you,” she says. “And she came back, which once again points to you being lucky,” she says with a grin. “So she wants to talk more. Any idea what you’re going to do from here?”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t know,” I answer. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out now,” I say. 

“Wrong,” she says, making a noise like a buzzer. “You’re going to throw yourself at her mercy and do whatever it takes to get that girl back. You love her, Nicole, and she flew all the way here in the middle of the night to be with you at your death bed 8 months after you took her heart and stomped it into the ground. You don’t let something like that go, especially not twice.”

“I know, I know,” I tell her, feeling a knot in my throat. “But if she doesn’t want to forgive me…if she can’t…” 

“She wants to, and she can, and she will,” Shae insists. “She’s still here for a reason. She could have gone home already, but she’s here. I swear to god I’ll kick your ass back into a coma if you let her get away this time.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, holding my hands up defensively. “No need to get violent.” 

She swats at me playfully. “I digress,” she says, giving me a knowing look. “Well, I’m going to go pass out now since I have work in,” she looks at her watch, “3 hours. Page me if you need me, but try to get some rest,” she tells me, and then she leaves the room. 

Yeah, sure. I can definitely sleep while I wait for what very well may be the most important conversation of my life to take place. 

  * \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 



It turns out after you get shot, die a few times, and have two major surgeries one after the other, you don’t have to worry about being able to fall asleep. Despite the anxiety and guilt and sadness and so many other emotions gnawing away at my insides, I fall asleep in no time at all. Now, I wake up again, the grogginess only a little less thick than it was when I woke up from my surgery. 

“Ungh.” An involuntary groan escapes my lips as I slowly wake up. My head hurts worse than before, a throbbing tension pulsing beneath my skull with every beat of my heart. The harsh lighting of the room makes the pain even more intense when I open my eyes and I groan again. 

“Well ungh to you, too.” My eyes snap open then, because it’s Waverly making a snide remark about my grumbling. She really did come back. 

She smiles at me and the sight of it numbs all of my aches and pains, at least for an instant. “Hey,” I offer lamely. 

“Hi,” she returns. “So, how did it go?” Her eyes meet mine and she looks into me, not through me, eager to hear how my surgery went. 

“It went really well,” I tell her. “Look,” I say, nodding towards my feet. She looks and I wiggle my toes and try not to look too relieved that they still obey me. 

“Oh, Nicole, that’s so great,” she exclaims, looking genuinely excited. 

“Yeah,” I answer. “The doc says I can start physical therapy soon, too, and that there’s a good chance I’ll be able to walk again.”

“I’m so happy for you. You had us all so worried,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, like I got shot, I guess,” I answer like a jackass. “No but really, I feel like I got hit by a car. I have this killer headache and my stomach feels like I did at least 3,000 sit ups and I feel so weak and tired.” I look up at Waverly and see the concern in her eyes. “But it’s okay. It’s expected, after everything. I’ll feel better soon.”

“I know,” she says, and I can tell by her tone that she’s not super excited to be done with this part of our conversation. The part where we talk about how I’m feeling and my recovery instead of the fact that I confessed my undying love to her 8 months after destroying our relationship. 

Cue awkward silence. It drags on for what feels like an hour but in reality is only a minute or two. I have the urge to word vomit, to take back everything I said to her, to say whatever I think I need to say to ease the tension and make things feel okay and good. But sometimes, things need to get worse before they can get better. 

After another moment, though, I can’t help myself. “Look, Waves, I’m sorry about before. For making things weird,” I say. She raises an eyebrow at me and I can’t control the word vomit that continues to poor out of me. “I meant it, what I said,” I say. “I’m just sorry if it made things harder for you or if it made you hate me more, because I really appreciate what you did, flying out here and making sure I’m okay.” 

I force myself to shut up and Waverly plops down into the chair next to my bed finally. That seems to be an improvement from standing, which would make it easier for her to exit the room and never talk to me again, so I’ll take it. 

“I don’t hate you, Nicole,” she finally says, after what seems like an eternity. Her voice is quiet and she’s looking at her hands, until she says my name and her eyes move to meet mine. “I could never hate you. I just…I still don’t know what to do. With what you told me,” she clarifies. “My heart wants to forgive you. Because I never stopped loving you, either,” she says. She’s staring straight into my eyes when she says the words and I swear if I was still attached to the heart rate monitor it would have been through the roof. A surge of emotions flows through me, too much for me to decipher or interpret. I want to apologize profusely and beg her to stay with me, but I also know that it isn’t my place to do so, nor my time to interject.

“But it isn’t that easy,” she continues. There it is, that part that I knew would be there. The part where she tells me it’s too late, that I’ve hurt her too much. “I really did start over in San Diego, Nicole. I live there now and I can’t come back. I won’t. I’m in school and I’m not giving that up.” I nod, swallowing, and I sink back into my bed a bit. The other shoe is dropping and I can’t let my heart shred to pieces yet, not in front of her. I just need to draw back and protect myself a bit. “So even if I was open to it…even if I thought I could try to trust you again, to let you back in, I just don’t know how it could work.”

She runs a hand through her hair, a frustrated tic I recognize from when we would disagree about something. She has gone quiet, and I realize I should probably say something. 

“When we broke up, I knew in my gut almost immediately that it was a mistake. But I let my pride get in the way and I ignored my instincts, thinking I was protecting you. I didn’t fight for you, for us. That was my second mistake. And you know me - I only make a mistake once. I want to fight for you, Waverly. I’m going to fight for you, and for us. We deserve that much. You deserve that much.” I push down the slight sting I feel as I say the words, fully aware that Waverly didn’t fight for me, either. We both made mistakes and we both had our part to play, but the weight of the blame still lays on me. I was the one who ended things. 

“I know you moved away and you have a new life. And I know there might not be a place in it for me. But I also know that I will do whatever it takes to prove to you that I love you, that I’m still me, that we could still be us, if that’s what you want.” I continue. At this point, it’s probably more word vomit, but I can’t stop. “If you really don’t want to try, if you want me to leave you alone so you can get back to your new life, I’ll respect that. But if you give me a chance, I’ll do my best to make up for these past 8 months.”

She’s silent for a long time and I resign myself to the fact that she has no reason to forgive me. I try to think about what I would do, if the roles were reversed, but I’m not sure the answer I come up with is honest; all I can think is that I would take her back with open arms. But without having been put through what I put her through, I lack perspective. 

Finally, mercifully, she speaks. “Of course I want to give you a chance, Nicole. I should have fought for us, too, in the beginning. I was just…too heartbroken, I guess. We can try, now, if that’s really what you want. But I can’t promise anything. There’s going to be distance and it’s been so long…” she trails off. 

She looks sad and the words sound morose as she utters them, but my heart is soaring. She just agreed to give me a chance. She agreed to fight for us. I don’t even care about the obstacles that are in our way; I got my chance and I’m not planning on letting anything get in my way. 

My arm is weak and sluggish, but I force it to obey me and move towards the side of the bed. I hang my hand off the edge and extend my thumb, index, and middle finger in a subtle gesture. Waverly looks down at my extended hand and then back up to me, and I can see in her eyes the second she decides to reach out and grab my fingers. She clasps on, much more tightly than I was expecting, exposing just how unsure and nervous she is about this decision. 

I hesitate, but then I squeeze her fingers gently, 3 times. It’s something we used to do when we were together - it means I love you. 

Waverly doesn’t do it back, but when I look into her eyes I can see it written there, and that’s all I need. She’s scared and vulnerable, but she’s Waverly. My Waverly. And she’s giving me a chance to win her back. 

Only Waverly Earp could ever make me genuinely thankful I got shot and nearly died. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I opted to minimally edit this seeing as I only have a short period of free time to post this this weekend and it's already been a 2 week wait since the last chapter. So please excuse any errors. There were places I wanted to change certain words into italics but hopefully your brains will read them that way anyways lol. Happy reading! Hope everyone is doing well!


	10. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is short and not the best writing I've ever done - but it was either this or waiting at least another week for an update. Life has been crazy, in a good way, so I've had/I have limited time to write and edit and I no longer have anything written in advance. 
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read! As always I love feedback and love to hear your thoughts about the fic!

“Well, it’s not like she got up and walked away,” Wynonna jokes tastelessly. 

“Stop it,” I chastise, not only because it isn’t a funny joke to make but also because I’m not in the mood for her careless attitude about everything at the moment. When she knows I need her, she can be a real adult, at least for a short period of time. 

She knows me well enough to read me with ease and as expected, she shapes up. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Well, I’m sure she’s just with a doctor somewhere. Everything’s okay, sis. Why don’t we see if we can go find Shae?”

“Alright,” I reply, not convinced. My stomach flutters nervously, but not in a good way. Too many weird and bad things happen in Purgatory for me to just assume Nicole’s sudden disappearance from her room is mundane. It’s logical to assume that she is with a doctor, but you know what they say about assuming. It would be exactly my luck to be just about to hop off the fence and try to work things out with her and have her be taken away from me again. 

We walk up to the reception desk and ask for Shae to be paged. The receptionist knows by now not to give Wynonna a hard time, poor girl, and she complies. Wynonna leans up against the counter and I start to pace back and forth until finally, several minutes later, Shae arrives. She’s winded and her eyes are a bit wide and panicky and it clicks that we should have made sure the receptionist told her it wasn’t an emergency. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks us.

“Yes!” I squeak. It’s not exactly easy for me to not be awkward around Nicole’s ex-wife and current roommate. “I, uh, at least I think it is. Do you know where Nicole is?”

“What?” She asks, looking at me like I grew another head. 

“She isn’t in her room,” I clarify. 

“That’s - she should be -“ Shae stammers, and my heart nearly sinks to my stomach. 

Then suddenly the receptionist pipes up. “Wait, do you mean the red head in 113?”

Shae and I both pivot on our feet to face her while Wynonna leans up against the desk, drumming her fingers. “The physical therapist showed her how to get into a wheel chair, and then this old guy came and wheeled her that way. Looked like maybe it was her dad or something. Like, 20 minutes ago maybe,” she says, jerking her head towards the hallway to our left. 

Shae and I look at each other, each of us with an eyebrow raised. 

“Nedley, you idiots,” Wynonna says, bopping me on the back of the head. 

I hear a beeping and Shae looks down at her pager attached to her lilac colored scrub pants. “Okay, well mystery solved. You guys okay?” She asks. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Wynonna says, waving a hand dismissively. “Go patch up some hearts, doctor lady.” Shae chuckles, thankfully, at Wynonna’s crass sense of humor. “Baby girl, I’ll see you at the Homestead later. Text me if you need me to pick you up.” I nod, and then both she and Shae go their separate ways, leaving me alone with the receptionist. 

“Thank you,” I tell her with a sweet smile. I was once voted the nicest person in Purgatory, remember, so I have to maintain my reputation.

I head off in the direction the receptionist said Nedley and Nicole went. I round one corner and come to an intersection and realize what a task it might be to find them in this maze of a hospital. It dawns on me that the smarter thing to do is probably to go back to her room and wait for them to get back, rather than traipse about the hospital on a wild goose chase. 

So I do that, head back to her room and plop down on the chair next to her bed that I’ve become very familiar with over the past couple of days. I take a deep breath and release it slowly, glancing around the room before I spot the remote for the TV on the other side of the bed. I lean across it and snatch it, hitting the power button, and begin to flip through the channels. 

“Glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.” I jolt in surprise at the sound of Nicole’s voice in the doorway. I had been settling in for a long wait, so I’m startled that she has returned already. I look at her and then my eyes flick up to Nedley, whose hands are on the handles of her wheelchair. 

“Sorry to uh, keep you waiting,” he says, in his classic awkward style. “Just had to read Officer Haught here the riot act for not calling in for backup. Nearly dying ain’t gettin’ her off the hook for this one.” He says. His voice is stern but he pats Nicole gently on the shoulder. She leans her head back and smiles up at him endeariingly, then looks at me and rolls her eyes with a playful grin on her lips. 

Between the playful grin and the gleam of mischief in her eyes and the way she looks at _me_ with that honey brown mischievous gaze, my stomach is doing tandem summersaults. It’s been a few days since her last surgery and she’s acting so much like herself again and god, I missed her so much. 

Nedley wheels her to the other side of the room and I watch as he helps her maneuver back into bed. She’s weak and feeble but it’s astounding to see her actually moving and functioning again. Once she’s settled back in successfully, they exchange a high five. Nedley beams at me widely, obviously proud of himself and Nicole for going on a successful excursion. 

“I’ll leave you two girls be,” he says, nodding his head at the both of us. “Nicole, don’t forget to fill out that paperwork, ASAP,” he instructs. He nods again and then turns on a heel and exits the room. 

“Wow, you finally get out of bed and you don’t even call me to take me on a date?” I tease her, but my cheeks end up flushing red at the thought of Nicole taking me out again. 

She smirks. “Sorry, Nedley beat you to the punch.”

“Well, I can accept that,” I respond. “I’m just happy to see you doing so well. What paperwork was Nedley talking about?”

Nicole had been looking at me but when I ask that question, her eyes dart away. Hm. 

“He, uh…” She starts, but trails off. She looks at me and bites her lip, and even though it’s not in a purposely seductive way, she looks irresistible. Minus the fact that I can tell something is going on, which removes any aphrodisiac effect. 

I wait patiently. “What did he say?” I ask gently, assuming he must have said something she isn’t sure she wants to talk about. 

She swallows. “I haven’t had time to process it,” she starts. “But he…he’s saying I was on duty. When it happened. Basically forcing me to go along with it.” I lean back as my eyes widen a bit in surprise. That’s not what I was expecting her to say. 

“Yeah, I know,” she says, shaking her head slightly with a raised eyebrow as she starts to stare off into space, still thinking. “I mean,” she continues, dropping her voice, “I definitely wasn’t on duty. But he wants me to let the department cover it, says it won’t be any skin off the state’s ass to pay for my hospital and rehab bills and pay me for my absence. He says I saved a life and I don’t deserve to get the short end of the stick for it. Shorter end, I guess I should say.”

I let what she tells me process. I’m usually a by the book kind of person - Wynonna got the rebellious streak in our family. But I have to agree with Nedley - Nicole was acting as an officer when she stopped, on duty or not, and she did save a life and nearly lose hers in the process. 

“I think it’s a good idea,” I say, not that she has asked for my opinion. Nicole looks back at me and I can see in her eyes that even though she hadn’t asked for my opinion or approval, she’s thankful for it. I watch her visibly relax. “Nedley is right and the department should back you. You deserve it. Whether you were on the clock or not, you were acting as an officer and you deserve to be taken care of as if you were injured on duty.”

Nicole is quiet for a few seconds, chewing on her lower lip. “I know,” she finally says. “I’m just worried about Nedley. He’s putting a lot on the line.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” I reassure her, and she nods. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she concludes, taking a deep breath inwards. 

“I’m what? What was that?” I tease. 

“Right,” she repeats begrudgingly. “You, Waverly Earp, are right.” She flashes me a smile full of bright white teeth and dimpled cheeks. My name rolls off her tongue and drips off her lips like honey and I might as well be Winny the Pooh in that moment. 

“That’s what I thought you said,” I say with a smile, equally as beaming. 

The problem with things feeling normal between us is that it’s so abnormal for things to feel normal between us that as soon as I feel myself getting comfortable I’m jolted back to reality. It’s tempting to just fall right back to how we used to be. We could do it, I know. Just fall back into normal. My heart and soul have longed for Nicole for so long and it would be easy to revert back to being in love with her, not that I ever really stopped, but I have enough sense of self preservation that I just can’t let that happen. Not yet, not so soon, not before we’ve figured everything out. 

I think Nicole must feel similar, or at least understands how I feel, because her smile fades and and she swallows, looking away from me. 

For a moment we fall into a tense silence, as if we are each waiting for the other to change their mind and decide they don’t want to try to work things out, after all. The type of silence that is somehow uncomfortably loud. 

“Tell me about San Diego,” Nicole says finally, her voice timid and soft as she looks at me. 

I lean back into the chair and pull my knees up so they are against my chest and I tell her everything about it; what it was like when I first arrived and how school has been going and about my new apartment. I even tell her about Chelsea, and while I see the knowing look in her eyes and feel the slight heat in my cheeks when I talk about my friendly-neighbor-who-is-a-friend-but-also-more-than-a-friend-but-we-never-really-talked-about-it-and-also-we-share-a-cat, she doesn’t question me about it. She just nods acceptingly and listens intently, clearly soaking up everything I’m telling her. 

When I’ve finished and she’s asked questions like who my favorite professors are, whether or not I’ve found a better bar than Shorty’s (I haven’t), and whether the dry heat really doesn’t feel as hot as it seems (it doesn’t) along with other similar questions to help fill in the blanks from the past 8 months of my life, I ask her to do the same for me. To tell me about her life since we were together last. 

Her past 8 months have been less eventful than mine, or at least, she makes them sound much less eventful. I mean, she didn’t move out of the country and start a PhD program, but she has done things. She tells me about some of her crazier notable cases and about some of the adventures she and Shae have gone on since her arrival. I imagine my expression during that part of the conversation is the same as hers had been when I talked about Chelsea. Reserved and accepting. We both had women in our lives that we weren’t in relationships with but who had filled the holes we left in each other’s lives and it was nothing to get jealous about, but somehow still stung a little. 

We continue chatting, a mixture of catching up and also reminiscing about shared experiences, until the physical therapist comes back into the room to work with Nicole again an hour or so later. Both of our faces fall upon his entrance, reluctant to end our conversation, fearful that we had just finally been able to talk without any weird tension between us and we may not be able to reclaim this feeling again later. 

“I’ll, um, I’ll go get some lunch then,” I tell Nicole as the therapist waits patiently by the door. Reflexively, I reach out a hand as if I’m going to squeeze hers; I hesitate half way through, my hand hanging in the air between us, until she reaches out and slides her fingers through mine. I look down at our hands and then up at her. It’s a simple gesture, but any kind of contact with Nicole at all right now is basically earth shattering to me. Heat travels from my fingers where they touch hers all the way up my palm and arm, until she squeezes 3 times and then lets my hand fall back to my lap. 

“Okay,” she says, a smile on her lips as she holds my gaze. “I’ll see you later, Waverly.”

Studies show that hearing your name is incredibly comforting for your brain, but comforted isn’t the first feeling that comes to mind when my name leaves Nicole lips. I feel a lot of things -excitement, hope, elation, and, of course, comforted. But the thing I feel the most isn’t a feeling at all; it’s the way my stomach feels like it’s the home of several butterflies that are eager to escape it. 

But with those butterflies comes the fear of what they mean; the realization that I’m essentially nothing but putty in Nicole’s hands. The realization that I’m letting her back in and that she could, ultimately, shatter my heart all over again. I’m allowing her the opportunity and the thought of it is about enough to replace the feeling of butterflies with that of nausea. 

I swallow thickly, unsure if Nicole is aware of how much a simple touch and saying my name has affected me. She’s watching me carefully and I think that she probably is. 

I smile half heartedly at her and stand, nodding to the the therapist as I squeeze through the door and basically sprint out of the room. I stop briefly in the hall, taking a deep breath as I run a hand over my face. 

What am I doing? Question of the week. 


	11. San Diego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not something I had thought of. I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave the hospital, and I’ve been so focused on fixing things with Waverly that I didn’t really think that far ahead. “Yeah, I guess,” I respond slowly. 
> 
> Three heart beats. 
> 
> “Come to San Diego with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this one! Quarnatine-life has changed a lot of things, including my writing schedule. Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy. Thanks for sticking with me!

Several days ago, Waverly Earp all but sprinted out of my hospital room after we spent over an hour catching up and laughing together. At first her abrupt exit had left me reeling and upset - what had I done wrong? But then it clicked - we had felt like us again. It scared her, and it scared me too. It’s a frustrating thing, to try to get back to normal when there doesn’t seem to be any more normal left. 

Even now, as we try to find normal, everything is changing. With the inflammation from my second surgery over a week ago now being down, I’m regaining more function by the day. I am walking with a walker for short distances; well, more like shuffling with a walker, but I’ll take it. 

Still, it isn’t all good news. It’s unclear if I’ll be able to return to the force, but for now, I’m trying to push that aside. I need to focus on walking and functioning enough to take care of myself on my own before I worry about that. Somehow, though, it’s always at the forefront of my mind. 

Another thing at the forefront of my mind is the fact that Waverly isn’t going to be here forever. Things are going pretty well between us now. We are focusing on just trying to find a new normal and regaining trust. But it’s hard to feel comfortable and secure when everything feels so temporary. Waverly’s world is thousands of miles away, and I know she has to get back to school. She’s taken 2 weeks off so far, but those 2 weeks are going to be up soon, and even if she offers, I don’t want her to jeopardize anything by staying here any longer. I won’t have it. 

She has basically been living at the hospital with me - during visiting hours, that is. Living at a hospital is definitely not fun, but we have been doing our best to make it bearable. I can’t even count how many games of Uno we have played or how many episodes of cooking shows we have watched. We both know the hospital like the back of our hands by now, thanks to the hours Waverly has spent wheeling me around or walking at turtle speed with me while I use my walker. But our time together is coming to an end. 

It’s something we need to talk about but have been skirting around. But not anymore. When she arrives this morning, I accept the coffee she offers me but I cut right to the chase. I know that if I let her start a different topic or if I ask her how she is, I might not be able to regain the courage I’ve been building up all morning. 

“When you go home, what’s going to happen?” I blurt out. 

Waverly freezes and looks at me like I grew another head. Then she swallows and leans back into her chair, laughing nervously. “Wow, right to the point, huh?”

“Well, it’s a valid question. You leave in what, 3 days?”

She nods, a pensive look on her face. “What do you want to happen?” She asks finally, after a moment or so. 

“Don’t answer my question with a question,” I counter. 

“Well, I don’t know, Nicole. I mean, you’re here and I have to go back to San Diego.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” I mutter. My tone is a bit harsher than I meant for it to come out, but I don’t correct myself. I feel Waverly’s eyes on my face, but my gaze is trained on a crack in one of the floor tiles by her feet. “I just…how are we supposed to work on things, thousands of miles apart?” 

She bites her lip. “There’s always Skype. Maybe we can, like, make a schedule for video chats to make sure we stay in touch and up to date about each other’s lives?” She suggests. 

She has a hopeful gleam in her eyes at her video chat idea, and I hate to stamp it out, but I have to. “Okay, but I still just don’t think we can rebuild our relationship like that. I don’t want to just stay up to date, Waves, I want to be a part of your life.”

The weight of my words hits her before it hits me. I see her face fall a bit. “Nicole, if you don’t think we can rebuild our relationship unless we’re physically together, then I don’t know what to tell you,” she says. I can sense some anger in her words, can see the way her gaze has hardened. 

“I know,” is all I can say. It’s a lie, because I don’t know. I don’t know anything; I don’t know if we will be able to make this work. I don’t know what I expect her to say. I don’t know what to say, either. 

The silence creeps in and it takes over. Several minutes pass and it seems like the conversation might be over, having gone about as well as I thought it would. Then, in my peripheral as I watch some people passing by in the hall, I see Waverly’s head snap up. I glance over at her, ready to avert my gaze if she still seems forlorn and bitter. But her eyes lock onto mine with what looks like curiosity and intrigue. 

“Okay, hear me out,” she says. “I can’t leave San Diego.” I nod, raising an eyebrow slightly as I wait for what hopefully is the rest of her thought. “But you could leave here, right? I mean, if you wanted to. Because you’re on leave for now from work and I’m sure you could continue your therapy somewhere else.” 

It’s not something I had thought of. I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave the hospital, and I’ve been so focused on fixing things with Waverly that I didn’t really think that far ahead. “Yeah, I guess,” I respond slowly. 

Three heart beats. 

“Come to San Diego with me.” 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The first thing I notice when I get off the plane isn’t heat; I am inside, after all. However, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a more highly air conditioned airport, which can only be indicative of overcompensation for the heat outside these walls. 

I have an attendant with me because I’m in a wheelchair. I haven’t been using a wheelchair around Purgatory because I’ve only been out of the hospital a few days and haven’t really gone anywhere, anyways, but everyone knows you can end up walking miles in an airport and I’m certainly not ready for that. The attendant wheels me through the throng of people, across the building and down a few floors to baggage claim. I tried not to pack much. My most precious piece of cargo flew with me in the cab of the plane, mewing pitifully - Calamity Jane. Now, her carrier rests in my lap and I stick my fingers through the wire front door absentmindedly. 

There’s a lot I’m uncertain of, here in this foreign land. I haven’t been in the states in quite some time and I’ve never been to San Diego, or California at all. And I’ve definitely never considered myself a city type of person; Purgatory may be small and stuck in the past but it’s my cup of tea, especially considering the family I made there. But one thing I’m not uncertain of at all is that I would follow Waverly Earp anywhere. 

I spot my maroon suitcase on the belt and my attendant graciously retrieves it for me and then we are on our way. On our way to where Waverly will be waiting, as she insisted on meeting me at the airport rather than just letting me take a cab to her apartment like I had suggested. 

The airport is, of course, insanely crowded. And from my low vantage point in the wheel chair, I fear it will be impossible for me to spot Waverly, or for her to spot me, and my heart starts to beat a little faster from the stress of it all until I see a pair of furry boots on their tip toes. Someone steps in my line of sight and they disappear, only to reappear again for several more seconds, closer this time. I can only think of one person who would be wearing boots in the summer in San Diego, and I’d recognize those toned calves anywhere. 

“Do you see your party anywhere, ma’am?” My attendant asks me, right on time. 

“Yes, I think so,” I say, pointing ahead of us. “I think if you just keep going straight, thanks.” 

It’s definitely weird, being in the wheelchair through a crowd of people, but most of them part ways once they see me coming, which is an unexpected benefit. I try to keep my eyes on the boots, crossing my finger sit actually is Waverly and I’m not leading my attendant on a wile goose chase, and eventually they are right in front of me. I look up and there’s Waverly, her eyes wide and white teeth flashing at me in a beaming smile. 

“I’m guessing this is her,” my attendant says, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Or should we just run her over?”

“Yes, this is her,” I say, tilting my head back to offer her a polite smile. “Thanks so much for all of your help.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” Waverly says, extending her hand and shaking the attendant’s hand. Friendliest person in Purgatory just might transfer to friendliest person in San Diego, too. With that, the attendant gives my shoulder a final pat and turns around and heads back, off to pick up the next person needing assistance navigating the crowds. 

“You’re really here!” Waverly chirps, placing both of her hands on either side of my face, like she needs to feel me in order to believe it. My cheeks warm at the contact, which is the most she has given since we were reunited by my accident. Well actually since I, ya know, tore us apart in the first place. I haven’t seen her in nearly a month, due to the gap in time where she had to go back to school and I was still not well enough to leave the hospital, and I’m relieved that she seems just as excited to see me as I am to see her. 

“Yes I am,” I respond, looking up at her endearingly. She removes her hands from my face and I see something flash through her eyes - reservation, maybe? Regret? Ah, yes, still in that weird limbo place. It dawns on me then that I couldn’t possibly be any more of a lesbian cliche, moving to a different country to move in with my estranged ex. I’m U-Hauling and living with an ex, all at once. Maybe I should have auditioned for the reboot of the L Word. 

I snap myself out of my self deprecating humor and shift in the seat of my wheel chair. Waverly, still smiling, walks around behind me and grabs the handles. “Oh, I can wheel myself,” I tell her, putting my hands onto the wheels. She bats them off immediately. 

“Don’t even try it,” she warns, and we begin moving. “You need to hold onto CJ, anyways.”

I take a deep breath in and shake my head slightly, but I obey. Waverly wheels me out of the airport and into the busy drop off and pick up area. She hails a cab, which is a surreal sight to me. She does it like she’s been doing it every day of her life. 

A car approaches and I take out the retractable cane I have in my lap as well, extending it so that I can use it to help me stand and walk to the cab. Waverly rushes around and gently takes CJ’s carrier off of my lap and places it into the back seat of the cab, then turns to help me. I don’t need the help, truly, but I don’t dare tell her that. I straighten with a groan and I hold onto her extended forearm and we get into the cab and then we are off.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - — - - - - - - - - - -— - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Moving in with your ex who lives in a different country while you’re healing from major surgery and traumatic injury might sound like a good idea in theory, but it isn’t really. Okay, it doesn’t really sound good in theory, either. While I was aware there would be plenty of awkward moments, plenty of insecurities and hurt feelings, some things I wasn’t quite prepared for. Mainly, things I hadn’t thought would bother me. 

But now, I need Waverly’s help to inspect and change a bandage on a still-healing incision on my lower back, from my most recent surgery several weeks ago. I told her this, and she happily obliged. She also is insisting on helping me clean the wound on my stomach as well. That one was much larger and uglier, having required a skin graft to heal properly, but it’s also a bit farther along in the healing process. Regardless, I didn’t think I’d feel embarrassed or uncomfortable having Waverly inspect my wounds. 

Now, though, I’m sitting on a stool in the kitchen with my fingers on the edge of my shirt, poised to lift it up and get it out of the way, but I hesitate. 

Waverly knows me well. “Hey,” she says softly, bending over so her face is level with mine. “I know this is a little weird, but don’t worry about it. I want to help you and this is a judgement free zone. Always. All I care about is that you’re alive - your scars are just a beautiful reminder of that. That you made it.” I listen, dumfounded by the kindness of her words. “Just think of me as your nurse, or something,” she continues. 

That kind of works to break the trance. She’s subtly friend-zoned me many times since she came back to Purgatory, but now she just nurse-zoned me. That’s a new one. “Yeah,” I say with a laugh that is more sigh than laugh, “A nurse.” I swallow and lift up my shirt, rolling it so my wounds are exposed. 

Waverly keeps a pretty straight face, not allowing herself to show most of the surprise I’m sure she feels at the sight of my scars. The one on my stomach is impressive to say the least, and it’s not something you can prepare someone for. Especially not someone who once saw that same skin smooth and healthy and not red, angry, mangled. 

Luckily for her, and for me, there’s a knock on the door. Waverly goes a bit stiff and raises an eyebrow. As a cop - former cop? - I instinctively straighten a little, yanking my shirt back down. “Are you expecting anyone?” I ask her. My hand goes to my hip which is, once again, empty of any gun and holster. I remember the last time I was in a situation without my gun, and my heart starts to beat a bit faster. I swallow, trying to maintain my composure. 

“Um, no,” she says. “But I guess it could be Chelsea.” 

Ah, good. I knew I would probably meet her eventually, and I don’t have anything against her, per se. But I definitely wasn’t looking forward to meeting the woman who was trying to make a move on my ex-girlfriend and love of my life, regardless of the fact that I waited almost a full year to try and correct things with her. I remind myself that I need to be thankful that she welcomed Waverly to this new city and made her feel loved and at home here. And I need to remind myself that Waverly let me move in with her and she wouldn’t have done that if it would have been stepping on Chelsea’s toes…right? No, Waverly would never do that. 

“Oh, okay,” I say with a nod and smile. I try not to let her see how forced it is. I shift and straighten on my stool, suddenly feeling a little self conscious. I don’t exactly look my best, between my recovery and the long flight I had early today. 

“I’ll tell her now isn’t a good time,” Waverly assures me as she heads for the door. 

“No, no, have her come in. I’d like to meet her,” I tell her. Waverly gives me a wide-eyed look but then nods, just as she turns the knob on the door. 

“Hey chica,” I hear an unfamiliar and exuberant voice from the hallway. I can only assume it’s Chealsea. “I come bearing gifts. Tequila and Uno?”

There’s a beat of silence that is uncharacteristic of Waverly. Both Chelsea and I notice. “Is everything okay?” She asks. 

“Oh, yeah,” Waverly finally speaks. “Everything is fine. It’s just…” At this point Chelsea has somewhat barged her way into the apartment, probably thinking Waverly is being held hostage or something, based on her odd behavior and not letting her into the apartment immediately. “Nicole is here,” she finishes, just as Chelsea’s eyes fall on me. I offer a wave from where I sit in the kitchen. I would get up to greet her, but I can see my cane sitting on the other side of the counter, out of reach, and the last thing I need is to face plant in front of Waverly and Chelsea. 

“Oh, hey,” Chelsea says. To her credit, she doesn’t seem dismayed or upset by my presence. Just surprised. But she doesn’t miss a beat. “I heard about what happened to you. I’m glad you’re doing better! It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“Thanks,” I respond with a wide smile. “And likewise.”

Waverly observes the interaction, looking a little dumfounded. I imagine this is somewhat of a nightmare for her, to have us both together in the same room. The thought of it makes me want to laugh, but I refrain. 

Instead, I just meet her eyes and offer her a mischievous grin before turning my attention back to Chelsea. “I heard something about Tequila and a game of Uno? I’m totally in, if you don’t mind.”


	12. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly and Nicole take leetle smol baby steps in the right direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another apology for the delay in getting this out. Have no fear, this story will continue, just bear with me! Minimal editing so I could at least post something, so sorry for the poor quality.

I’ll admit, as soon as I heard the knock at the door, I knew it was Chelsea. And I also knew she knew Nicole was here; I had told her she was going to come here, and normally she would have just let herself in, not knocked. I hadn’t expected her to arrive in this manner, and I still hadn’t decided whether or not I would introduce the two in the first place. It seemed that it would be weird and tense and unfair to all parties involved. I absolutely didn’t want to be involved in some kind of love triangle, but I also didn’t want anyone to have their feelings hurt. 

I thought that when I told Chelsea that Nicole was moving in, it subtly was telling her that whatever had been budding between us was never going to come to fruition. Her presence here indicates that I may not have been clear enough - or it just means that she’s decided she doesn’t care. 

Now, I’m rummaging around in the kitchen fixing us all some margaritas and tequila shots. Nicole is still perched on the stool in the center of the kitchen, and I realize I never examined her wounds. “Hey, Chels,” I say. “Do you mind giving us a second?”

Before she can answer, Nicole does, knowing what I was about to say as if she had read my mind. “No no,” she interjects. It’s fine, Wave. Really, no big deal.” 

Except it is a big deal, to me, and I know it’s important to make sure she is healing well. I open my mouth to object but just as I do so, Nicole is standing up from her stool, nowhere near her cane. “Why are you so stubborn!” My voice is joking and I force out a laugh, but truly, this night isn’t going to plan at all and neither Nicole nor Chelsea is helping. I get the cane for Nicole and hand it to her, and luckily for her, she accepts it. 

I return to making drinks as Nicole ambles over and sits on the small sofa and starts to chat with Chelsea. I watch them from across my small apartment, in disbelief that this is really unfolding in front of me. 

“Come on slow poke. Didn’t you used to be a bartender?” Chelsea prods. I catch Nicole’s gaze and she smirks at me and leans back against the sofa.

“Yeah, she used to be,” she tells Chelsea. “And with the crowds she used to draw in at Shorty’s, she definitely was way faster than this. She’s gone soft.” 

I scowl at them as I walk over, precariously balancing several glasses in my hands. “Enough, both of you,” I say as I set the drinks down on the table. 

“So, what do you do for a living, Chelsea?” Nicole asks. I want to bristle at the thought of them sizing each other up, like they’re in some sort of competition, comparing careers and status. But Nicole’s voice is easy going and she seems genuinely interested. I plop down in the chair next to the couch. 

“I’m a student, and a barista,” Chelsea says. “2nd year PhD candidate in Early Childhood Development. And you’re a cop?”

“That’s so cool,” Nicole responds genuinely. “And yeah, I’m a cop. Well, was a cop, at least. Now I’m not sure.” Her head falls a little at the end of her sentence and Chelsea has that look on her face like she knows she made her uncomfortable but there’s nothing she can do about it. 

The only thing I can think of to do is to pick up a shot glass and say, “Shots!” We all slug back a shot at the same time, cringing as the alcohol burns its way down to our stomachs. 

I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - — - - - - - - — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - — - - — - - 

“No! Don’t be lame!” Nicole whines as Chelsea get up from the couch. We’ve been watching vine compilations and Jenna Marbles videos for at least a solid 3 hours now. There might have been some edibles involved, on top of the tequila, and somehow what I thought would be a disaster of a night had turned into hands down the best time I have had in a really long time. Even in my intoxicated state I am aware of the fact that the new variable that had led to this being such a fun evening was Nicole. Chelsea and I hung out all the time, but this night stood out. My abs would hurt tomorrow from how hard we had been laughing. 

“Dude, it’s like, 1am and I have work in like 6 hours,” Chelsea retorts. 

“So?” 

Nicole used to work 48 hours straight and still stay awake after to make time for me, so I know any argument Chelsea can conjure up will be futile. “We’ll have to do this again. Maybe not the showing up unannounced part, but the hanging out part,” I say, forcing Nicole to drop the subject and let Chelsea go get some sleep. 

“For sure,” Chelsea agrees. “I’ll see you guys later.”

And then suddenly just a much as I was dreading Chelsea coming to hang out with us, I find myself dreading being here alone with Nicole. 

“She’s really cool. I can see why you like her,” Nicole says after a few seconds of silence. I stare at her blankly and then nod as I start to clean up the various empty bags of chips and several shot glasses that are on the coffee table. 

“She’s been a really good friend to me.” I tell her. 

“She’s in love with you,” Nicole says, as casually as if she just acknowledged that it’s dark outside. 

I freeze, my hand hovering over the final glass on the table. “What?” I ask, incredulous. Both at the statement and the fact that Nicole even said that. “She’s not, and why would you say that?”

“She looks at you like you hung the moon,” she starts. “And she totally came to scope out our new living arrangement here.”

For some reason, I can feel my blood starting to boil. I put the last glass into the sink to be washed in the morning, and remain in the kitchen, leaning on my hands against the counter as I look at Nicole from across the room. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You just met her like 5 minutes ago. And really, Nicole, I don’t have time or patience for drama. If you have a problem with my relationship with her then just be straight up about it.” 

“No, no!” Nicole says hurriedly. “I don’t have a problem with it! I just…I don’t know what to say around you or how to act around you. It’s hard and it’s weird and I’m…sorry if I mess up,” she says. 

And now I feel bad. Nicole has a concerned look on her face like she’s worried she upset me - which okay, she did, but only accidentally - and I’m just standing in the kitchen like a dumbass. This is why I’m the nicest person in Purgatory - any time I take on even a slight edge, I almost always immediately regret it. 

I give an exasperated sigh and walk back over to the couch, sitting down on the cushion beside her. “The last thing I want to do is fight with you,” I say, placing my hand lightly on her knee in lieu of holding up a white flag. “We just had such a fun night. Let’s not ruin it. I know things between us are kind of weird right now. But I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t want to work on things. If I didn’t think we could work. If I wanted to be with Chelsea, I would be. But you’re the one living in my apartment, right?” 

She nods, and I take a deep breath. I wasn’t planning on having this conversation tonight, or really any time soon, but it was probably for the best that we had it. I want Nicole to know that I want to fix us, that I want us to work again. I just don’t know for sure that it’s an achievable task. “Okay. Now will you let me look at your incision?”

“It’s okay. It can wait until the morning. It’s late and I’m so tired,” she says, yawning the end of her sentence as proof. 

“No,” I insist. “We need to take care of it now. I promised Nedley I’d take care of you and I’m not going to drop the ball.”

Nicole groans but complies, scooting forward to the edge of the couch so she can sit up and pull up her shirt. I hesitate as I reach to pull back the tape and gauze. During all the time I had spent with her in the hospital I had never seen her wound. Now as I pull back the gauze, I’m reminded of the severity of her injuries. Nicole is so stoic and tough that it’s easy to forget she was barely hanging on to life only several weeks ago. 

“I can do it myself, really, if it’s too much for you. It’s okay. I know it’s gross,” she says, looking at the floor instead of meeting my eyes. 

“First of all, no you can’t do it yourself,” I reply. “And second, it isn’t gross. Your scars, they…they remind me that I almost lost you for good.” I say. I hesitate for a fleeting second but then I reach out and place my hand under her chin, tilting her head back to face me so she has to look at me. My stomach flip flops as her honey brown eyes look into mine, usually so guarded but now utterly vulnerable. “And they mean you’re still here. That’s all that matters. They prove that you’re a fighter and the strongest person I know.”

We sit there for a few seconds, just staring, until I break the trance and let go of her chin so I can better inspect the wound under the gauze. Upon doing so I’m pleased to see that there is no blood or oozing and the gauze pad is clean. “Everything looks really good,” I tell her cheerfully. 

“That’s good,” she responds. “But they’ll probably be worse in the morning. They usually are.” 

“That’s okay,” I tell her with a smile. “Let me go get your blankets and pillows and pull out the couch.” I head to the closet in my bedroom and pull out a couple of blankets and pillows and hurry back to get her bed set up. I’m exhausted and I can only imagine how tired Nicole must be. 

My thoughts are confirmed as she looks at me sleepily, complying when I ask her to stand so I can pull out the couch and make her bed. Once everything is set up I watch as she crawls into bed and curls up under the blankets, nuzzling her face into the pillows. 

“Goodnight,” I say with a smile. “Just yell if you need anything.” I’m pretty sure she’s already asleep.

I go to my room and crawl into my own bed. It’s surreal, to have the love of my life one room over in her own separate blanket cocoon. To not be curled up against her chest like my heart is aching for. But having her here and starting to talk about our feelings is a step in the right direction, and for now, that’s all I can hope for. 

Baby steps.


	13. All over again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s not what I said!” She exclaims, sounding frustrated. It’s very unusual for her to raise her voice like that, and equally unusual for us to have these tense kinds of conversations. “I….I don’t know,” she says, running a hand through her hair and finally looking at me again. “I was just wondering. That’s all.” She shrugs and looks away again. 
> 
> And that’s when it dawns on me. She’s jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, long time no talk. Sorry for the disappearance on my end, as most of you have experienced yourselves, 2020 has been something else. I can't promise how regularly I will be able to update this, but I can promise I will finish it, some day. I'm hoping to be a bit more active here now, fingers crossed.

We fell into a routine quickly. It was always like that, with me and Waverly - natural, easy. It’s as if we had been living our entire lives like this. And while it’s blissfully easy to pretend that this is how it’s always been, that everything is normal, I’m reminded constantly that it’s not. Our relationship has gotten substantially better in that we are relaxed and comfortable around each other again. We joke and we bicker like old times. We have game night with Chelsea several times a week, and I’m getting mobile enough that we can go for strolls in the cool evening hours after Waverly is home from school. I still need my cane, but I reserve the walker for occasions when I know there might not be somewhere for me to sit and rest. 

So, you could say that everything is going well. I’m happy here, I’m healing. But the more Waverly becomes my best friend again, the more it’s apparent that we aren’t together. We are continuing to walk this fine line between friends and dating, which is a common thing for people to do, but a totally different ball game when you consider everything we have been through and the fact that I’m 100% sure Waverly is my soulmate. Chelsea teases us all the time about our lingering gazes and dramatic touching of hands in passing. 

Now, I’m home alone thinking about the dramatic tension only a true lesbian could have created for herself by moving in with her estranged ex when I hear a knock at the door. I realize it’s already late afternoon, and my occupational therapist is here to help me with some activities I’m still unable to do on my own. Waverly is overtly helpful and willing to take care of things around the apartment that I can’t on my own, but it’s important for me to work on regaining my independence and practicing my life skills. 

Especially things like safely showering, because we definitely aren’t at a place that she can help me with that kind of thing. 

My therapist, Ericka, is super kind and helpful. She’s taught me strategies to reduce my chances of falling and is the reason I can now walk safely with just the cane instead of needing my walker or wheelchair. She’s also just a genuinely kind and interesting person - over the last several weeks we’ve gotten to know each other well. She’s talked to me about her time spent volunteering in Ecuador while she taught me how to make dinner without letting go of my walker; about her 2 dogs, Sparky and Bueno, usually having some new antic to tell me about each time we meet; and about her recent divorce from her wife of 4 years. That’s another cool thing about San Diego compared to Purgatory - I’m not the only lesbian in town. 

I open the door for Ericka and say hello, closing the door behind her when she enters the apartment. I leave the door unlocked because I know Wave will be home soon, and she’s usually carrying stacks of books and papers and has to fumble to find her keys to open the door. Ericka and I begin working on light housework - it’s mostly her watching me and directing me as needed, like when I have to reach up high for something but lose my balance and she explains to me that I need to keep one hand grounded at all times. Or how when I put things away in lower cabinets, I need to fully lower down to my knees instead of trying to stoop over to put them away, because my back just isn’t recovered enough to handle that kind of flexion. 

Often times I’ll get frustrated at not being able to do such simple tasks - will I ever get better? Will I ever be able to go back to work? Or just be a normal human? And today is no different as soon as it’s time to get in the shower. Ericka doesn’t actually help me bathe, but she works with me on how to get in and out of the shower safely so I can do it on my own. Lifting my legs over the edge of the tub without losing balance has been the tough part, so that’s what we work on. The hard part is that it’s different when the tub is filled with water vs without, so now I dress prepared to get wet and we fill the tub with an inch or so of water so I can practice. Ideally we would have some sort of handrail installed, but the landlord of the complex already vetoed that idea. 

At first I had insisted I could shower - then I insisted I could step into the tub - but now we’ve been practicing a new method in which I sit on the edge of the tub with my feet outside, then rotate and put one foot in, then the other, and then lower myself in. It’s been going okay most of the time - but today as soon as I start to shift my weight to swing my second foot over the edge into the water, I feel myself slip and can’t catch myself, and slip off the edge, crashing shoulder first into the water. 

Ericka, having learned my preference for the way she handle this type of situation, says “Okay, that was alright, but just never do that again,” as she extends a hand to help me back up to try again. 

I grab her hand with my soaking wet one and start laughing almost too hard to even be able to accept her help and lift myself back onto the edge of the tub. One half of my hair is wet and sticking to my face and my clothes are basically soaked. It’s the first time I’ve taken a dip like that - usually I maintain my balance better. 

Ericka can’t help herself and laughs too as she helps me pivot around and hands me a towel. 

“Nic?” I hear Waverly call out. I hadn’t heard her come in, but her arrival signals therapy time is almost over. I hear her place her keys on the counter and then she appears in the doorway of the bathroom and surveys the scene, some emotion flickering across her face too quickly for me to read it before she defaults to her beaming friendly smile. “I was wondering what all the commotion was about!” She says with a laugh. I see her give me a once over with a bit of concern, but she looks to Ericka and seems satisfied that everything is okay. “How is everything going?”

“Great!” Ericka chirps, before I can chime in with my unnecessarily pessimistic remark about my progress. “She’s doing really well. Despite how it might look right now,” she says with a slight shake of her head and roll of her eyes. I think we’ll only be needing a few more sessions and from there it’s just about taking time to heal and regain strength.” Ericka gestures for me to grab my cane and stand up, so I demonstrate to Waverly that I can do that, praying I don’t take another dive into the bath tub in doing so. Waves, supportive as ever, claps for me once I’m up and straightened out. 

I start to amble out of the room and Waverly heads over into the kitchen, filling a cup of water for herself. I walk with Ericka towards the door. “Thanks Ericka, you’re the best,” I tell her. “I’ll see you in a few days?”

“Yep,” she responds. “Nice job today. You’ll be getting in and out of that tub like a pro in no time, don’t worry.”

Once she leaves, I lock the door behind her and start to make my way over to my things to I can grab a change of clothes and get out of my soaking wet ones. 

“So only a few more weeks of therapy,” Waverly says, her elbows leaning on the counter of the bar in the kitchen, watching me. “Are you sad? Do you think you’ll see her again once your sessions are done?”

Her question takes me a back a bit. I furrow my eyebrows as I look at her while rummaging through my things. “What do you mean? Like hang out with her?”

“Yeah,” she says. “You guys seem like you get along really well. Whenever I come home at the end of your sessions you’re usually laughing and joking around.”

“Well, yeah, because we’re trying to lighten the mood around the fact that I’m young and have the same capabilities as a 100 year old person at the moment,” I retort. “I’m pretty sure she could get in trouble for hanging out with her patients, anyways. But no, I wasn’t planning on hanging out with her. She’s my therapist.”

“She wouldn’t get in trouble once you aren’t her patient anymore, though. So you could, you know, do whatever you want.” Waverly continues. 

The way she’s pushing this uncomfortable subject lets me know that whatever she’s getting at is important to her and may have been bugging her for quite some time. “What are you trying to say, Wave? Do you want me to date her or something?”

“That isn’t what I said,” she quickly responds. “But, you could. If you wanted to. That’s what I’m trying to say.” She’s still standing at the counter, tracing the top of her glass of water with her index finger, not looking at me as she talks. 

I can’t help but let some of the disappointment and sadness I feel seep into my voice when I respond. “Do you want me to date her?” I’d never considered dating anyone in the absence of Waverly, and I certainly hadn’t since I came here to live with her. There’s never been anyone but her from the moment I laid eyes on her. I didn’t know if Waverly understood that, but maybe she’s trying to hint to me that she wants me to start seeing other people. That she wants me to move on. 

“That’s not what I said!” She exclaims, sounding frustrated. It’s very unusual for her to raise her voice like that, and equally unusual for us to have these tense kinds of conversations. “I….I don’t know,” she says, running a hand through her hair and finally looking at me again. “I was just wondering. That’s all.” She shrugs and looks away again. 

And that’s when it dawns on me. She’s jealous. Usually I wouldn’t be happy that I had made her jealous - jealousy isn’t a nice feeling nor is it conducive to a healthy relationship. But her feeling jealous signifies that she doesn’t want me to date anyone else, so I will happily revel in the fact that she is jealous of Ericka. 

I can’t help but let a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I watch her for a few seconds, just taking in the sight of her. She’s been at school for nearly 14 hours - her hair is disheveled, there are bags under her blood shot eyes, and she looks as tired as I’ve ever seen her. But she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s my Waverly and I’ve never laid eyes upon something more perfect in this world. 

“Waverly,” I say softly, getting her to look up at me again. Her brown eyes look vulnerable, unsure, and I take a leap, hoping that we’re on the same page. If I incorrectly assumed she’s jealous and she isn’t, it could make things worse between us. But I need to say what’s on my mind and in my heart. “I have absolutely no interest in dating anyone but you. From the moment I laid eyes on you in Purgatory, I knew my fate was sealed. There’s no one else for me but you. And if I messed that up too badly to fix…” I say, swallowing. “Well, I’ll have to spend the rest of my life coming to terms with that. But I can tell you without any doubt in my mind, you never have to wonder if I’m interested in anyone else. You never have to wonder if I’ve moved on, because the answer will always be no.” 

She looks up at me, holding my gaze after I’ve gone quiet. She doesn’t respond, for long enough that I start to second guess myself and wonder if I’ve crossed some sort of line. “I-I’m sorry if that makes things weird between us. Well, weirder than they already are,” I say with a breathy, nervous laugh. “I never want to make you uncomfortable and I get it if you want some space or independence. You letting me stay with you was above and beyond and I appreciate it so much. But if you want me to start looking for my own place, I’ll be fine - I can do most things on my own now - “

“Nicole,” she says, cutting off my rambling. I stop mid sentence and just stare at her, probably like a deer in headlights. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, I watch as her eyes dart to my lips and back to my eyes a few times, making my stomach do summersaults and my heart beat loudly in my chest. Then she walks purposefully around the counter and closes the distance between us. She throws her arms around my neck and I stumble forwards a bit from the weight, until she bumps into the counter and I’m able to steady myself. I feel the Woosh of breath come out of her as she hits the counter just as her lips are about to connect with mine. 

Our lips greet each other eagerly, hungrily. There’s only a few seconds of gentle inquisitiveness as our mouths reacquaint themselves before nearly a year’s worth of desire wins over and makes all of our actions feverish. I keep one hand on the counter for support and plant the other across her lower back, pressing her as close into me as I can get her. Her hands are latched in my hair, one of her legs snaking up around my hips to lock us into an even tighter embrace. 

I take a bit of a risk and take my hand off the counter long enough so that I can lift Waverly up onto the counter. I don’t really have enough strength to do so but she understands and assists as she hops up so she’s sitting on the edge, and quickly reconnects her mouth with mine, both of her legs now wrapped around me, trapping me against her. My fingers skim the skin beneath the hem of her shirt, tentative at first but then I slide them fully under, gliding over the familiar soft skin of her tight abdomen. She shivers from my touch, and as we kiss I move my head to kiss her cheek, working my way to nibble gently at her ear lobe and then press kisses into her neck, nipping gently and then soothing the bites with my tongue. She tilts her head back, allowing me better access, and my mouth works its way along her collar bone to the tip of her shoulder and back again, then as far along her sternum as I can get with her shirt still on. 

I lift my head up and meet her eyes, seeing her pupils wide and shoulders moving from her heavy breathing. We speak to each other with no words, just looking into each other’s eyes, and I know that we are home, that we are together, that we are one. She pulls back a bit, never breaking eye contact, and reaches down in one smooth motion and yanks her shirt over her head, tossing it somewhere behind me. She reaches behind her and unclips her bra and tosses that as well. All I can do is stare in awe. 

“You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” I tell her, the look of shear amazement and awe clear to see on my face. She blushes slightly and then I see the seductive, hungry look return to her eyes as she lifts one of my hands and places it on her breast, dragging my fingers down to her nipple. I rub my thumb in circled over it. We both moan audibly and I see goosebumps spread all across her chest and arms. 

“I’m yours,” she says. “And you are mine.” 

“Always,” I murmur, before pressing my lips back against hers. I have every intention of making love to her for the rest of the night, heck, into the morning. I feel her hands reaching for the buckle of my belt and I know without a doubt in my mind that I will never, ever do anything to jeopardize this again. My Waverly, my Waverly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While walking, I remember that it’s Tuesday and the food truck with the best Pad Thai is parked only a block out of my way in it’s normal spot. I take the detour and order one for myself and one for Nicole. It feels weird but good - it’s been a long time since I was able to take care of her, spoil her, bring her little surprises to let her know I was thinking about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short... but at least it didn't take me 2 months to post again!

The cool air inside my apartment is a much welcomed contrast to the humidity and heat outside. Even the hallways of my apartment building have been infiltrated by the heat, which forces entry through doors held open too long and poorly sealed connections between the doors and the floors. Heck, even as I open my apartment door I can practically feel the cold air leaving and the thick heat taking up residence. 

Luckily, Nicole slams the door shut as soon as we both make it through the entryway. Also luckily, for me, immediately after turning the deadbolt she turns her attention to me, swiftly placing a hand behind my head to protect it from the impact of her roughly pushing me against the wall. I hear her cane clatter on the ground as she drops it, the hand that was holding it moving to the small of my back to keep me as close as possible. I’m not concerned because I don’t think our bodies will be far enough apart for her to require any extra support from it that I can’t offer….or our bed can’t offer. 

Our teeth bang together in a way that would have been unpleasant except for it only indicates how fervent our kisses had become, and thus serves to increase the intensity with which we were kissing. Our tongues connect and glide with each other until it’s almost hard to tell whose is whose. I disconnect my mouth from hers, reveling in the way we each breathe heavily onto each other, panting from exertion and with excitement, passion. Just as I see she is about to lean in to kiss me again, I avert my mouth from hers instead latch onto her neck, sucking and biting in a way that is sure to leave a hickey. My right hand snakes behind her neck to hold her still. And then I leave another, and another, and another, from just below her ear to her collar bone. I can feel her body bucking and trembling with pleasure, and hear the breathy “Fuck, baby,” she moans as my hands slip under her shirt and fingers trace her tight abdomen, doubling back over the lower area right above her belt. 

She escapes my grasp and quickly begins kissing me again, pressing me against the wall with increased pressure. She takes both of my hands and raises them above my head, pinning them to the wall, then easily transfers both of my small wrists into one of her hands as she holds them there. She leans her head down so her mouth is right against my ear. 

“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you right now,” she whispers, her free hand grabbing my inner thigh. I wore a skirt to work/school today, and even though it was a pain in the ass and rode up all day long, it’s certainly paying off now. 

Her breath tickles my ear and in combination with her hand on my inner thigh and fingers tracing gentle circles on the skin there, a chill runs through my body, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. “I want you to fuck me, Nicole. Please,” I answer her. 

I feel her lips move agains my ear as she smiles. Her hand creeps ever higher, until it’s lifting to get over the band of the black thong I’m wearing for better access before making contact with my pubic area again. Her long, slender fingers slide down to the point that they’re hovering just above my clit. “I don’t know. That wasn’t very convincing, I’m not sure how bad you want me,” she says. I know she’s teasing, but my response comes out embarrassingly desperate. 

“Please, Nicole,” I whine, my breath catching as her fingers apply light pressure. “I want you _so_ bad. Please fuck me, _please_.” 

“That’s more like it,” she says, pulling away from my ear so she can look at me. I see that mischievous grin on her face, her pupils large and dilated, the rosy tint to her cheeks as her heart beats fast in her chest. She maintains eye contact with me as her fingers dive deeper between my folds, watching me as I quiver from her touch, my head tilting back against the wall. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” she says. With her newly lubricated fingers she drags her hand back upwards and begins swirling gentle circles over my clit with her index finger. I’m so turned on and already sensitive that the action nearly sends me to the moon. I moan loudly in pleasure, which makes Nicole laugh softly. “Okay, I guess I believe how bad you want me,” she teases. I nod at her with wide eyes, fully at her mercy. 

She releases my hands that she had been holding above my head as she snakes her hand out of my panties, bringing her fingers soaked in my wetness to her mouth, sucking me off of them. I groan, clit throbbing, as I watch, and as soon as she puts her hand down I pull her head to me and kiss her hard and fast. 

She pulls away and takes a slight step back, then starts to lower down to her knees in front of me. It briefly crosses my mind that I’m not sure if that’s really a good position for her injured back to be in, but it goes out the window as soon as she reaches both hands up to flip my skirt out of the way and slides my panties down my legs. I step out of them and kick them off to the side. She taps the back of one of my knees and I knowingly drape it over her shoulder, widening my stance and leaning into the wall so I can comfortably stay in this position for a while. 

Nicole looks up at me with those deep brown eyes as she plants her lips on the skin of my leg that’s hanging over her shoulder, starting from my knee and working her way in. She keeps looking at me once she makes her way to my center, where she gives me a teasing lick. It’s just a tease, but it’s enough to make me close my eyes and lean my head against the wall, ready to surrender to her completely. 

And I do. As if she too can’t take it anymore, her tongue surges through me until it locates my swollen clit. She starts off with slow motions and gentle pressure, which elicits moans of pleasure from me. My fingers tangle themselves in her hair, holding her head in place. She quickens her pace, too enthralled to tease or edge me any longer like she might usually. I feel the tightness building in my core, my cheeks flushing, my whole body feeling hot, senses heightened. 

“ _Fuck_ , don’t stop Nicole, please don’t stop,” I say. I bring my fist to my mouth and bite onto it, trying to muffle the scream that wants to erupt from my lips so as not to disturb my neighbors too much. I’m sure they can hear us, but I don’t care. Nicole does magic with her tongue and within moments she sends me straight over the edge. I feel the tightness that had been building inside of me release in the most pleasureful of ways, feeling the release over my entire body. My walls clench and pulsate as I ride the high, Nicole slowing the motions of her tongue against my clit until it’s clear my orgasm is over. 

She looks up at me, grinning, her chin and lips glistening with my wetness, and says in a weirdly deep voice, “Earth to Waverly.”

Wait, what?

“Earth to Waverly, helloooooo.” 

I jolt back to reality, nearly tipping over backwards in the chair I'm sitting in. Theo, one of my fellow PhD students, looks at me skeptically as I straighten up from my desk. I’ve been in the library for several hours working on a literature search assignment and apparently, my brain had decided I could use a little mental break from the tedious task. How nice. Except now I’m hot and bothered in the library. 

“Oh, sorry,” I chirp. There’s no way he knows what I was zoning out about. Right? Of course not. Unless my face gives it away. “I guess I zoned out there,” I say with a smile, shaking my head. 

“Can’t blame ya,” he responds cheerfully. “Are you working on that literature search? Mind if I join you?” He asks, sitting down at the desk across from me. 

“Oh, uh,” I stammer. “I actually _was_ working on that but I should probably get going. I’m obviously not being productive anymore.” I say, blushing for no apparent reason as I gather my things and stand up from my chair. 

“Alright,” he says good-naturedly. “Well, I’ll see you around! I have a few things I’d like to pick your brain about. Maybe over coffee this Thursday?”

“Yeah, sure!” I say, although honestly I’m not even sure what he said. All I can think about is getting home to my apartment….who am I kidding, to Nicole. 

The walk back to my apartment is always one of my favorite parts of the day - but not so much so at night. If I hit the sweet spot right as the sun starts to set, I get to watch the city transition from day time business to night life as the sun casts a warm orange glow over the sides of the brick and concrete buildings. Now, I’ve missed that sweet spot by an hour or so and I’m only catching the tail end of the sunset. The street lights have all kicked on, and while they offer light, they also create shadowy spaces that make it impossible to see down alleys and in certain directions. I’ve never had a bad experience walking home, knock on wood, but I’m still hypervigilant and aware that to some people, I might look like an easy target. 

While walking, I remember that it’s Tuesday and the food truck with the best Pad Thai is parked only a block out of my way in it’s normal spot. I take the detour and order one for myself and one for Nicole. It feels weird but good - it’s been a long time since I was able to take care of her, spoil her, bring her little surprises to let her know I was thinking about her. We aren’t back together or anything since we hooked up a few nights ago, but things are going in the right direction. Considering how hard it was to not be with her, it’s even harder now to keep myself from just immediately falling back into her arms completely. But I know we need to set and maintain healthy boundaries and move at a reasonable pace. And communicate. We definitely had a lot of talking to do. 

But for now, Pad Thai. I walk the last several blocks back to my apartment and once I reach my door, precariously stack the take out boxes onto one arm while I fumble around for my keys, which are of course in the pocket opposite my free hand. I finally snag them and open my door. 

“Hey!” Chelsea says to me, raising a half-drunk beer into the air in greeting. I hadn’t been expecting her to be here, but my smile is genuine. Nicole smiles at me warmly from the other end of the couch. 

“Hi!” I say as I kick the door shut. “Oh no, I didn’t know you were coming over! I would have gotten you food too.” I try to transfer the take out boxes onto the kitchen counter while balancing the weight of my backpack, still holding my keys in one hand. 

“Let me help,” Nicole says, ambling over to take the boxes from me. She stumbles as she turns to set the food down on the counter, and I reflexively reach out to steady her, my hands grasping at her hips. She regains her balance and looks down, meeting my gaze, and I swear my heart skips a beat. I hold her gaze for a second and then swallow, taking my hands off her hips and looking away. Nicole shakes her head, a subtle smirk on her lips, and heads back over to the couch. 

“You guys are acting weird,” Chelsea remarks while observing us, furrowing her eyebrows and looking back and forth between us. “Omg,” she says. “Is this…am I interrupting a date?” She asks, looking at each of us again. “No way! You guys totally banged!”

My mouth drops open a bit - how the heck did she figure that out so fast? I look at Nicole, trying to telepathically ask her what do we do? She looks at me and then back to Chelsea. 

“Is it really that obvious?” She asks. 

Not what I was expecting from her. “ _Nicole!_ ” I chastise. 

“Nothing to be embarrassed about baby girl,” Chelsea says, laughing. “Honestly it’s about damn time.” 

I can feel my face turning red, which only solidifies the proud grin on Nicole’s face as she crosses her legs underneath her while she sits back down on the couch. 

“Well, I don’t want to third wheel,” Chelsea continues. “I mean, I definitely will in the future, but I know how the honeymoon phase goes,” she says with a knowing look between the both of us. “I’ll let you two have some privacy.”

“No! Stay!” I say. My voice is so desperate that both Chelsea and Nicole raise their eyebrows at me. The truth is I’m suddenly feeling flustered and nervous and I don’t want to be alone with Nicole, not yet. “I, uh, I’ll share my pad Thai with you! I never finish anyways. And you didn’t finish your beer yet. Wanna watch Masked Singer?”

Before she can respond, I pull 3 plates out of the cabinet and start evenly distributing the noodles, tofu, and veggies onto them. Nicole and Chelsea still look a little confused as I bring them their plates and forks and then return with mine, plopping down in between them. 

“I’m not gonna say no to free food, but don’t get any ideas. I’m not into the whole throuple thing,” she warns, looking at me and then at Nicole with pursed lips while shaking her head. Nicole laughs and looks at me, shrugging her shoulders when she notices the exasperated look on my face, like you got us into this. 

I don’t know why I’m so uncomfortable and nervous. I guess I had wanted more time to figure things out with Nicole by myself, by ourselves, before anyone else knew. But it isn’t like Chelsea cares or would judge us. I guess it’s mainly because I’ve yet to let go of that nagging fear in the back of my mind that Nicole could leave me again, and San Diego is supposed to be my safe haven. I just don’t want to get myself in the same situation again, and you know what they say - past behavior is the best predictor of future behavior. 

I take a deep breath between my mouthfuls of food while I’m lost in my thoughts. Nicole and Chelsea bicker and chatter about which celebrity could be behind the mask of the contestant on stage on the TV, oblivious to the fact that I’m a million miles away. After a few more moments of internal despair, I pull my head out of my ass. Nicole has done nothing but prove that she wants to make things right between us, and even after all we’ve been through, I trust her - with my life, and with my heart. 

Nicole is sitting next to me with her knees drawn towards her chest, and I reach over and rub the back of my fingers on the side of her calf, a small display of affection and a silent apology for tweaking out a bit a few minutes ago. She looks down at my hand and then at me, uncertainty in her eyes. I can’t blame her after the way I’ve been going hot and cold ever since the other night. 

What she doesn’t know is that I’ve just settled on the decision that I want to be with her again for real, that I want to surrender myself to her completely. 

What I don’t know is how long it will take me to get the balls to tell her that. 


	15. It's a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m speechless from the sight of her, bowled over by the knowledge that I’m lucky enough to be on this earth at the same time as her, that she has chosen me to be with in this very moment out of the other billions of people on the planet. I just feel so lucky, so grateful, and so happy. 
> 
> I’m so overcome with emotion that I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. Before Waverly can notice, I take a deep breath, composing myself. 
> 
> “I want to hear everything,” I answer finally. “I know I’ve been here for a while now, but I missed so much of your life. Fill me in, please.” 
> 
> I know we aren’t back together - I know this is only our first date since we broke up. But I get a gut feeling in that moment that everything is going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three on time updates in a row, AND I'm letting them be happy for an entire chapter? Whaaat?
> 
> Also, I started a new WayHaught fic! Check out my works if you're interested! Completely different concept than this one :) but hopefully just as good, if not better. First chapter is up now.

I hum to myself in the bath tub, squinting my eyes closed tightly as shampoo drips down my face from the crown of my head. I splash a handful of water onto my face, but my eyes still sting when I finally dare to open them. I swipe the back of my forearm across them and then just choose to ignore the stinging until it subsides. 

I usually hate taking a bath, because it’s one of the few things that really makes me feel disabled. I can walk around well enough now, sometimes not even needing my cane, and while the feeling and function to my legs isn’t totally restored and I still have excruciating back pain at times, I more or less can get around fine. I can cook, I can clean, I can get myself dressed, I can make it down stairs to hop in a cab or for a short walk outside. But I can’t stand in the shower without risking falling and cracking my head open. I don’t trust myself to be steady enough, and even though Waverly offered, I won’t let her jeopardize her lease by installing a handrail or seat in the tub. 

So, I usually hate this process, but not tonight. Tonight, I’m taking Waverly on a date. A bonafide date, that I asked her out on and everything. 

_I hear the water from the shower turn off and then rummaging noises from the bathroom as I set up the couch with fresh, thick blankets from the linen closet. Then I go and pour us each a drink, setting the short round glasses down on coasters on the coffee table situated between the couch and the TV. I go over to the kitchen and open and shut cabinets until I land upon a smorgasbord of Waverly’s favorite vegan snacks. I smile to myself and pull out a bag of PopCorners and Hippeas and bring those over to the couch as well._

_Setting the snacks down on the table, I sit down on the couch, folding my legs up underneath me. I groan when I realize I left the remote on the table, knowing I’m not going to be able to bend forward to reach it because of my back, and start to reposition myself so I can stand up to retrieve it and start the movie we’re going to watch, Portrait of a Lady on Fire._

_“I’ve got it,” Waverly says, suddenly appearing in front of me. I smile at her as she hands me the remote. Her hair is wrapped up in a towel perched on the top of her head, and she’s wearing black and white flannel pajama bottoms and a baggy grey t-shirt. The sweet smell of her body wash and shampoo drift to my nose and I don’t know if she’s ever looked more beautiful and irresistible to me before in her life. I swallow, stunned and dumfounded as she drops the remote into my hand, and quickly avert my gaze to the TV._

_Waverly chuckles, but I’m not sure if she’s aware of her affect on me or if she just thinks it’s funny that I’m hopelessly awkward in that moment. She climbs onto the couch, sitting on the cushion next to me, and lifts up the blanket that’s covering me so she can scoot under as well, wrapping it high underneath her chin. She presses her small, cold body up to me, and nuzzles into my side once I lift my arm to wrap it around her shoulders, one of her arms wrapping across my stomach as she burrows even deeper into my side._

_I turn my head and place a gentle kiss on top of her head, still covered in a towel, to which Waverly squeezes me gently in response. I breathe in her sweet, tantalizing scent and she tilts her head up towards me to plant a gentle whisper of a kiss on my lips before ducking her head and pressing her forehead against my neck._

_“I missed you,” she whispers softly. I rub her shoulder with the hand that’s wrapped around her, then bring my hand up to rub and scratch the back of her neck. She purrs under my touch, and the wholesomeness of this moment is enough to make me want to implode with happiness. I’ve longed for this for so long, for simple moments like these, and now here we are._

_“I missed you too. So, so much.” I murmur. I know that neither of us are solely referring to the fact that Waverly had been at school all day. Of course I had missed her all day - it gets boring pretty quick when you’ve spent the majority of your time in a 500 square foot apartment for the past however many weeks. But I know that right now we are reconnecting, and reiterating how displeasing the whole being broken up thing has been. Well, we still are broken up, but things are looking up._

_I take a deep breath and power on the TV, navigating to Hulu and, and start to type in the title of the movie. “Hey Waves?” I ask impulsively as I press the space button after the word Portrait._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Would you…go on a date with me?” I ask. I’m glad I didn’t hesitate to ask, because I probably would have lost the courage. It’s the best kind of word vomit._

_She sits up a little, and I’m instantly feeling cold where her warm body is no longer pressed up against mine. The towel on her head rocks backwards and she grimaces as it pulls on her hair before she unravels it, tossing the towel clear across the room towards the bathroom. Her long wavy hair falls down and drapes over her shoulders as she looks at me with wide, gorgeous brown eyes. My breath hitches in my throat at the sight of her. It truly feels like I’m falling in love with her all over again. I swallow, trying to maintain my composure._

_“Like, a date date?” She asks._

_“Mhm,” I say, nodding, getting a little nervous._

_“I accept,” she says, breaking into a beaming smile, one that I want to kiss off of her so badly, but I refrain. “I’d absolutely love that!” I can tell she’s excited, like she has been waiting for me to ask her out - she very well could have been, as it has been a couple of weeks now of us kind of back together but kind of not. I just don’t want to rush anything, or do anything to jeopardize the rekindling of our love._

_“Okay,” I say, typing in the rest of the title on the TV, making no attempt to hide my smile at her answer. “Friday night? After you get home?”_

_“It’s a date,” she says happily, before leaning back against me and giving me a quick squeeze of excitement._

_A date._

Having an exciting reason to take a bath makes it less frustrating. Still frustrating, yes, but less. I finish up, wanting to make sure I’m out in time so Waverly can use the bathroom as she needs once she gets home. As I amble over to my makeshift dresser in the closet of the living room, it dawns on me that I haven’t truly gone out in…actually, I can’t remember the last time I went out that wasn’t for a doctor’s appointment of some sort. 

Waverly and I are still sleeping separately most nights, so all of my things are still in their designated space in the linen closet instead of in a dresser in her room. I sort through the multiple plastic bins holding my clothing until I settle on a pair of navy blue slacks, a baby blue button down, and a light brown leather belt and matching light brown leather shoes. I go back to the bathroom and get changed, then use a hand to wipe the fog off the mirror as I begin to blow-dry my hair until my red locks are straight and smooth, hanging around chin length. I’m not much one for makeup, but I do apply some moisturizer and mascara before giving myself a final once over and exiting the bathroom. 

I look over my shoulder to turn off the light as I do so, and nearly smack right into someone as I look back in front of me. A startled noise like a a squirrel might make as it falls out of its nest escapes from my mouth as I stumble backwards. As soon as I’ve lost my footing there’s no saving it - I teeter backwards until I land straight on my ass on the hard tile of the bathroom floor. My jaw snaps shut so hard that I bite the inside of my cheek and side of my tongue, the metallic taste of blood instantly filling my mouth. 

“Oh my god, Nicole!” Waverly exclaims. “I’m so sorry! I thought you heard me come in!” She says, rushing towards me. She kneels down in front of me, watching in horror as I spit blood out into my hand.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, seeing her wide eyes already on the verge of tears. “I just bit my tongue, it’s not as bad as it looks. Promise,” I assure her. “Can you help me up?”

Waverly nods, not looking convinced, and holds out a hand. I grab it with the one I didn’t spit a mouthful of blood into, and with a groan and her help, hoist myself up. I sway at first, slow to adjust and aware of a stabbing pain in my lower back and throbbing tailbone. 

“You look so nice! And I ruined everything!” Waverly says. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The first tear has now fallen, and rolls down her cheek. 

“Waves, shh, shh,” I try to reassure her. “I’m okay. You didn’t do anything wrong and you didn’t ruin anything. You really think I look nice?” I ask with a smile, trying to earn one from her as well and lighten her mood. 

“You look amazing, as always. But now you’re all injured and stuff,” she sniffles. 

“I was already injured and stuff,” I say with a laugh as I rinse off my hands in the sink. “I’ll be fine - I am fine. It was almost time for my pain meds, anyway, and my tongue already stopped bleeding. See?” I stick out my tongue and open my mouth as proof. 

Waverly takes a deep breath, examining my mouth, and lets it out with a huff. “Okay, I guess you’re okay. I’m so sorry,” she says again. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I tell her. “Unless you make us late for our reservation because you’re worrying over me for no reason.” I say, softening the impact of my words by smiling and giving her shoulder a tender squeeze. 

“I’ll be ready in like, 20 minutes,” she tells me. She reaches up on her tip toes to give me a quick peck on the lips and then turns on her heel, disappearing into her room to get ready. I know that 20 minutes means more like 30 or 40 minutes, but I’ve made our reservations accordingly so I’m not in any rush. I go over to the couch and sit down and begin scrolling mindlessly through social media. 

Occasionally I hear Waverly moving between the bathroom and her bedroom as she gets ready. After about 30-35 minutes, though, I hear her shut both doors and then heels clicking on the wood floor towards me. I start to stand up as I look towards her with a smile. 

“Re-“ my brain does a quick control-alt-delete on the whole speaking thing as my jaw almost literally goes slack at the sight of her. She’s wearing a black jumpsuit that’s flowy around her legs but tightens up over her torso and sports a plunging neckline. She’s paired the jumper with a light colored sun hat and a leather purse slung over her shoulder, along with strappy black heels. 

“I, uh,” I stammer, standing up, unable to break the fixation my eyes have on her. “I was going to ask if you’re ready but that seems a bit redundant now.” I rub the back of my neck with one of my hands, still mesmerized by the gorgeous woman in front of me. Waverly smiles, pleased, obviously aware of the effect she has on me. 

“I feel under dressed now,” I say sheepishly. I go over to the closet and pull out a light grey blazer to wear over my button down, which at least gets me closer to the level Waverly is on. 

“You look dashing,” Waverly says as she walks up to me. She places a hand softly on my chest while her fingers find a button on my shirt, spinning it around gently between her index finger and thumb. “I’m so excited to go out with you,” she says, wrapping her other hand around the back of my neck. Her thumb caresses the space just below my ear as she does so, the motions pausing as she tilts her head up and I more than happily oblige and lean down to kiss her softly. 

“So,” she says as we make our way out the door and down the stairs to the front of the building. “Where are we going?” 

I’d scheduled an Uber, but a quick scan as we walk out the front door lets me know it hasn’t arrived yet. “Nah ah,” I tell her. “I told you, it’s a surprise.”

“Well, you said we have a reservation. So I already know we’re going to dinner,” she quips with a smirk. 

“Yeah, well, it is a date, and it’s dinner time, so that was kind of obvious already, right?” I counter playfully.“And dinner isn’t even the best part, trust me.”

She reaches out and touches my forearm, a suggestive grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.“Oh, I think we both know dessert is always the best part,” she says. 

I feel my cheeks heating up just as a black SUV pulls up to the curb in front of us. I verify the license plate number and ask the driver who they’re supposed to be picking up, and then open the door for Waverly before getting in the car myself as well. 

“Do you know how to get there?” Waverly asks the driver, and I instantly catch on to what she’s doing - trying to get him to disclose where we are going. 

“Where we’re going is a surprise - I sent you the location and address when I sent my ride request. I can plug it into your GPS if you need me to.” I tell the driver quickly, before they can inadvertently give away where we are going. I narrow my eyes and shoot a glare over at Waverly, who just crosses her arms over her stomach and fakes a pout. 

If Waverly thought she might be able to figure out where we are going a bit early by just watching out the window, I can tell she’s stumped as we leave the city. I can only assume that I’m in the clear once we exit San Diego altogether, that I’ve successfully kept the whole date a surprise, something I wasn’t sure I could actually pull off. Not with those beautiful puppy dog eyes that kept getting flashed at me ever since I first refused to tell her where we were going for this date. 

It’s about a 45 minute drive until we get to the restaurant I’ve chosen, the last 20 of those being off the high way, slowly getting further and further from the hustle and bustle of the city. We reach our destination, a barn-style wood building with string lights cast about it charmingly, and black wooden letters adorning the entrance that say _Belle Récolte_.

“Beautiful Harvest,” Waverly murmurs thoughtfully, effortlessly translating the name of the restaurant that I honestly hadn’t even known meant anything. “French,” she adds, solely for my sake. 

The car pulls to a stop near the entrance and we thank the driver and get out of the car. Were it not for my stiff body and agonizingly slow gait, I would have swiftly run to open Waverly’s door for her. Instead, she just slides out the same door as I do, and I close it behind her. Close enough. 

Waverly threads her arm through mine as we walk up the short flight of stairs leading into the building, the cane in my other hand making dull noises against the wooden steps. I open the door and she lets go of my arm as I gesture for her to enter first, laughing as she does a little curtsey in thanks before doing so. 

The host greets us with a friendly smile. “Hi, we have a reservation for 2 - should be under Haught?”

The host confirms and leads us over to the table, and gets us started with drinks. 

“I’ll have a glass of cabernet sauvignon,” Waverly says after quickly looking through her options on the extensive menu. 

“Make that two,” I say, not even looking at the menu. I’m not much of a wine drinker - but I know Waverly knows her way around a good bottle of red wine, so I follow her lead. 

We both start to look through the menu - which is mostly in French, something I hadn’t taken into consideration before coming here. It would have been wise to look at the menu rather than choosing this place solely off of reviews, but neither Waverly nor I are picky eaters, and it was an aesthetically pleasing vegan place with 5/5 stars, so I chose it. 

“This place is so cute,” Waverly comments, looking around the room before turning the page of the menu. “Can you read any of this though?” She asks, peeking at me from behind the large laminated booklet that is her menu. I can’t see her mouth, but I’m sure she’s smirking. I know French is one of the many languages she’s fluent in. Personally, I’m lucky I can remember English words…most of the time. 

“Honestly? No,” I say with a laugh. I turn the pages for probably the 10th time, as if they might suddenly translate to English if I turn them the correct number of times, or I might suddenly be able to read French. “I was hoping baguette would at least be on here somewhere, but I don’t even see that,” I continue, smiling and shaking my head as I scan the words. 

“Okay - well, I think you’d like the _bouillabaisse._ It’s vegan, obviously, so I’m not sure how much it will really taste like the original dish, but it sounds really good. Or, you could - “

“Nope!” I cut her off, closing my menu in front of me and sliding it to the edge of the table. “I want the boobie-bess-whatever-you-just-said. I trust you.”

The waiter approaches our table with the wine, introducing himself before taking the rest of our order. Waverly graciously orders for me, and the waiter has a surprised look on his face as he he’s able to have a full conversation in French with her. 

“So,” Waverly asks once he has left, pausing to take a small sip of her wine. “What do you want to talk about?”

I take a few seconds to soak in the sight of her - the reality I’m living in this moment. Waverly is sitting across from me, sun hat hanging on the back of her chair, her wavy hair perfectly framing her face. She has a little makeup on, but nothing so extreme that she doesn’t look perfectly normal and natural - just enough to accentuate her cheek bones and eyelashes a little more. She’s looking back at me attentively, waiting for me to speak. 

I’m speechless from the sight of her, bowled over by the knowledge that I’m lucky enough to be on this earth at the same time as her, that she has chosen me to be with in this very moment out of the other billions of people on the planet. I just feel so lucky, so grateful, and so happy. 

I’m so overcome with emotion that I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes. Before Waverly can notice, I take a deep breath, composing myself. 

“I want to hear everything,” I answer finally. “I know I’ve been here for a while now, but I missed so much of your life. Fill me in, please.” 

I know we aren’t back together - I know this is only our first date since we broke up. But I get a gut feeling in that moment that everything is going to be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comment any suggestions you may have as far as where you want this to go next. I have ideas but I'd like to incorporate some reader suggestions when possible!
> 
> Also, don't forget to check out my new WayHaught fic! Leave a comment saying you're here from Again :)


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